


Adjusting

by morningstar88



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Omega!John, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningstar88/pseuds/morningstar88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alpha Sherlock is investigating the death of several Omegas when he finds himself in the middle of an Omega sex ring madly in love. Will he and his new found love interest find their happy ending, or will it slip from their grasp?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A House of Ill Repute

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the Omega-verse. Here are my rules for Omega-verse. Betas are like normal people and have children with a member of the opposite sex. Alphas and Omegas can have children between two men, two women, or members of the opposite sex. This has been neither beta-ed, nor Brit-picked, but if someone wants to volunteer to do both, it would be much appreciated. 
> 
> I'm still a little unsure of this, so let's say if I get 15 kudos and 5 positive comments, I'll post the second chapter which is bouncing around in my head.

A/N: This is my first foray into the Omega-verse. Here are my rules for Omega-verse. Betas are like normal people and have children with a member of the opposite sex. Alphas and Omegas can have children between two men, two women, or members of the opposite sex. This has not been Brit-picked. Enjoy!  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Sherlock, I need everything you’ve got.” Lestrade says, tapping his foot impatiently in the mud, little splatters of the Thames and good English soil appearing on the toe of his shoe and bottom of his dress pants. 

The taller man stands, snapping his magnifying glass shut. “Male Omega, about thirty years old, missing for six years.”

“Anything else?” 

“The river has washed away most of the evidence, but due to the blood under his fingernails, I’d say he put up a struggle. Bruising pattern suggests a beating with a belt that had a large ornamental buckle. Irregular set of several bones indicates breaks that weren’t set properly.” Sherlock reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, clicking away. 

“Right, well, I guess we’ll start looking at missing persons reports.” Lestrade sighs, tucking his ancient notepad and pencil into the inside of his suit coat. 

“No need.” The consulting detective holds up his phone, a picture of the dead Omega on the screen. “Michael Toby. Primary school teacher. Reported missing in 2004 by his sister one Amelia Toby.” 

“Why would anyone want to kill an Omega?” Lestrade asks, confused. 

Sherlock shrugs. “The same reason everyone decides to kill someone else. Jealousy. Anger. Obsession.” He begins to walk away, his coat fanning out behind him. Lestrade slips in the mud a little trying to keep up. 

“How many dead Omegas does this make?” Sherlock’s eyes narrow slightly in concentration, turning back to look at the DI.

“Uh, ten in the last month.” Greg reports dutifully. 

“Interesting.” Sherlock purses his lips slightly, tightening his scarf around his neck.

“What is?” Lestrade inquired.

“Am I the only one out of the entirety of your idiotic police force that questions why all these Omegas have shown up dead in the last month? Alphas and Betas are programmed to protect Omegas, not hurt them, and other Omegas rarely have the strength to beat someone with the force that was used on these dead Omegas.” He sneers and Lestrade stops in his tracks. 

“Finally someone gets it.” Sherlock says, rolling his eyes. He begins to head for the main road, leaving Greg Lestrade standing in a confused stupor by the river. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sherlock hails a cab and settles himself into the back seat. Ten Omegas missing in the last month, and who knows how many missing in the last year. Pulling out his phone, he quickly hacks into NSY’s missing person database. He narrows down his search to Omegas who have gone missing within the last ten years. Over 5,000 missing Omegas and 200 of those have shown up dead. 

Grudgingly, he closes the database and begins to text. 

_Need more information on missing Omegas. –SH_

Seconds later, his phone rings. 

“Hello dear brother.” Sherlock shudders at the smugness in Mycroft’s voice.

“What do you know about the ten Omegas that have suddenly shown up dead?” 

“No pleasantries, I see.” Mycroft says in an attempted offhand manner, and Sherlock growls. 

“Now, Mycroft.” 

“According to DI Morstan from vice, they’ve been investigating an Omega sex ring for the last two months, but they’re sure it has been going on for much longer. Only since they’ve been seriously investigating it have Omegas been showing up dead. I’m sure they would love to have your help in the matter.” Mycroft cleared his throat slightly. “As it is, this is also a matter of national security. We believe they have also been smuggling in Omegas from other countries. I’ll set something up for you. Anthea will text you the details.”

Sherlock blinks in surprise. He had expected to beg Mycroft and offer his help on two cases in exchange for Mycroft’s help. This day was turning out better than he had anticipated. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Three hours later finds Sherlock jammed uncomfortably in the back of a Town Car being debriefed by his brother. 

“Here is your identity,” Mycroft drawls, handing him a drivers license and passport, which Sherlock flips open to look at.

“James Maloney, Mycroft? Really? Am I supposed to be Irish?” Sherlock says scornfully.

“It was the best we could do in such a short time.” His pinkie taps twice on the handle of his umbrella, and Sherlock gives a self-satisfied smile. His brother has very few tells when he is irritated, but this is one of them.

“Now, your story is this-you’ve never been with an Omega before, and as a right of passage, your brother has decided to purchase an Omega’s heat for you. Not far off from the truth, in fact. You’ll be able to snoop around for a bit before they take you into the Omega’s room, but after that you’ll be completely at the mercy of his pheromones. You’ll be able to ask him questions in between, ah, goes. But don’t be surprised if he refuses to answer your questions. They tend to grow fond of their keepers.” Mycroft smirks. 

Sherlock snorts in derision. Omegas-what a sentimental lot.

“You know, Sherlock, as the Alpha of our family, you are required to find an Omega…” Mycroft starts uncomfortably. 

“Oh please, Mycroft.” Sherlock waves him away. “You and I both know that if I don’t bond or mate then you and Lestrade inherit the estate. All I ask is you keep my trust fund intact.”

“While Greg and I are happy to inherit Mummy and Father’s estate, you know the only way the Holmes name will continue is through you and your…offspring.” Mycroft remarks, scrunching his nose in distaste. 

“Been to see Mummy lately?” Sherlock says with a sneer. “I’m assuming that’s where this is coming from. She’s been on you about Greg?” 

“Yes, well, Mummy will never understand why I’ve decided to bond with an Alpha.” 

“Yes well, Mummy still believes that bonding is only for breeding, doesn’t she?” Sherlock still finds it odd to sympathize with Mycroft. According to Mummy, bonding’s sole purpose is for breeding and Mycroft, a Beta, had chosen to bond with DI Lestrade, an Alpha. There are no children in their future. Sentiment. It isn’t something Sherlock necessarily approves of, but he understands it. Breeding, however, is something he does not understand. Bonding releases endorphins-dopamine, oxytocin. He appreciates addiction, can comprehend how someone could become addicted to the release of chemicals in the brain during intercourse and how Mycroft could want a regular release of those endorphins. But raising a child? Why would someone want to tie themselves to a tiny person for eighteen years? The very idea is distasteful. 

“Sherlock…while I appreciate your concern, I think bonding would be advisable for you. It doesn’t have to be an Omega. Just someone to hold you accountable,” Mycroft says delicately.

“This is about the cocaine, isn’t it?” Sherlock says harshly, his upper lip curling back in a sneer. 

“Sherlock…”

“You can tell Mummy and Lestrade that I’ve been clean for a year, and I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my business.” He slides across the seat in a righteous huff, tucking his new license into his wallet and tossing his real one at Mycroft’s head where it bounces off and onto the seat next to the beta. 

He gets out of the car and hails a cab to the address that Anthea texted him hours ago. It’s for a sprawling mansion in Windsor owned to a Mr. Benjamin Carlton, a banker who leases it out almost monthly and cannot guarantee that it hasn’t been subleased. 

The cab pulls up to the four-storey brick monstrosity in what seems like no time at all. He leaps out of the cab and assumes one of his favorite personas, the charming businessman who is slightly out of his depth. 

The door opens as soon as he approaches, opened by a young omega girl, about eleven years old. She bows, and he is taken aback. In the 1800s, when there were more omegas than alphas, omegas were often kept as slaves or in harems. It wasn’t uncommon for an alpha to have six or seven omegas that they had mated with, and one bondmate, the “omega of the house” as it were. In the 1920s, along with the women’s rights movement, omegas had campaigned for equal rights. Now, omegas are schoolteachers, nurses, and secretaries. Some even become lawyers, doctors and professors. 

“Sir, please come this way,” she motions for him to enter a private waiting room, elegantly arrayed and he settles himself onto a damask settee, crossing his legs. 

“It will just be a moment, sir, and Mr. Clarke will be with you,” she says with a small smile and a bow. He nods and she disappears, the slap of her bare feet on hard wood floors fading after a few seconds. He glances around, quickly making note of his surroundings, the typical “alpha man” office. Dark woods and cabernet colored draperies. There’s a fine Persian run covering the floor. In fact, the only item of furniture that could be considered feminine in any way is the cream colored settee that Sherlock himself is sitting on. A painting over the fireplace is either an original Manet, or a very expertly done knock off, and it surprises him that he can’t really tell. 

Sherlock’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of expensive leather shoes approaching down the same hallway the little girl disappeared down not moments before. 

“Mr. Maloney, I’m Mr. Clarke.” He’s tall, not quite as tall as Sherlock, but tall nonetheless. He holds out his hand, and Sherlock takes it, giving his most charming smile. The man is in his early 40s with light brown hair and green eyes, and Clarke is obviously not his real last name due to the fact that he pauses after the “Mr.” as if he’s worried he’s given the wrong name. He’s not the chief of the entire operation, but he’s high up enough to be in charge of the house, and that is enough.

“Yes, hello Mr. Clarke.” He stands, shaking Mr. Clarke’s hand, and the older man grins. 

“Your brother’s assistant called us, I’m sorry there wasn’t more time to accommodate your…needs.” He smiles indulgently and Sherlock fidgets uncomfortably, playing the role to perfection. 

“Yes, I’m very sorry this was so short notice,” he apologizes, and Mr. Clarke gives a small chuckle.

“Oh, not at all. Luckily for you, we always have an omega in heat. However we aren’t able to provide for all of your wishes. We only have a male omega in heat now, so if you were wishing for a female, you will have to reschedule.” Their footsteps fall in together as he is led up the plushly carpeted staircase to the second storey. 

“Male will be fine.” Sherlock says blandly. He wants to say that it doesn’t really matter because it’s not as if he’ll be enjoying this and all he really wants to do is question the omega, but he refrains. They reach the second floor and he is led down a long hallway that has several doors. 

“Have you had our rules explained to you?” 

“Ah. Unfortunately I have not.” Sherlock smiles apologetically, and Mr. Clarke shakes his head with a rueful smile. 

“Quite alright. You’ll be locked in the room with the omega for the duration of his heat. All of your meals will be provided and there is a refrigerator and an en suite bathroom. All of our Omegas have been tested for STIs and are on birth control. The omega will be restrained, but you may unlock his restraints if you wish. A key will be in the bedside table drawer. You are not to bond with the omega. Any questions?” They stop at a door and Clarke smiles at him. 

“Not at this time.” Sherlock nods.

Clarke points at the door closest to him. “The omega is through here. He’s just entering his heat, so you won’t be affected by the pheromones for a few hours, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to occupy yourself.” He gives a knowing smile. “Thank God all of these rooms are sealed off, otherwise we’d all be in a pheromone stew 24/7.” 

“Righto. Thanks so much.” He reaches for the door, turns the knob and enters. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The first thing he notices is the smell. A slightly sweet, cloying smell hit his nose and goes right up into his brain. The room is sparsely furnished, a large king bed with a wrought iron headboard takes up most of the room and a refrigerator is next to a door, which he assumes leads to the en suite. 

The omega is chained to the bed, his hands cuffed together and attached to a long chain that is looped through the headboard. He is lying on his stomach, his hips writhing to get more friction on his cock. A thatch of sandy blond hair covers his head and he is small, compact. He looks to be about 20, and he briefly wonders how young they start these omegas. 

“Please,” the young man whimpers, and Sherlock’s heart goes out to him. While he may show disdain for omegas, he knows that they are a slave to biology during their heats. He’s thankful he wasn’t born an omega. 

“Shh. I’m going to help you.” He slides out of his clothes and settles himself next to the omega. Lubrication glistens on the back of his thighs. He’s at least half an hour away from full on heat and already he is leaking copiously. 

“What’s your name?” He whispers into the tight shell of the omega’s ear, resting a hand on the lightly tanned skin of the young man’s shoulder. 

He shudders with arousal before whimpering, “J-John.” 

“Alright, John. You’re a little way away from your full on heat. I’m going to help you, but I’m going to ask you a few questions as well. Do you think you can answer them for me?” He smoothes his hand down John’s back, feeling the prominent bumps of his spine, and he growls a little at the thought that these omegas aren’t fed enough.

“What kind of questions?” He squeaks, and Sherlock gently cups his ass, kneading the softness of it.

“I’m investigating some dead omegas. Do you know a Michael Toby?” Sherlock’s fingers find John’s loosened arse hole, dancing around it, but his hand is quickly dislodged when John flips himself over to face the detective. 

Suddenly, Sherlock is gazing into the slightly feverish gaze of an omega in heat. Sherlock has always viewed omegas in a very objective manner, mainly because he’s never really known an omega. He’s interacted with them out in public, but he’s never actually known one. But looking into the intelligent stare of the man in front of him, something shifts. This is a human being, not an idea or a group, an actual human person with thoughts and feelings not unlike his own. 

“What about Michael? Is he ok?” John asks, his brow furrowing in worry. 

Sherlock hesitates slightly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth in indecision before he decides to tell him the truth. “John, I’m so sorry. He’s dead.” 

“No!” He yanks hard against the cuffs that keep him pinned to the bed, and Sherlock puts out a hand to stop him. He reaches into the bedside drawer and draws out the key to the cuffs and unlocks them with a quick turn of his wrist. As soon as he’s free, John’s hands come up to his face, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes and Sherlock realizes that he’s crying. 

“How?” He asks hoarsely pulling his hands away from his face, and Sherlock hesitates again. Does he tell John that Michael was brutally murdered, or does he spare him the horrific details? He decides to go with the latter option.

“We’re not sure. We just know that he was missing for several years before he was found dead. He was found washed up on the banks of the Thames.” Sherlock loops his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders in order to provide some comfort, and John leans into him. 

“He was here, with us,” John starts, but abruptly stops. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to talk about this…” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, and Sherlock draws circles on his shoulder with his fingertips. 

“John, I have to find his murderer. Please.” Sherlock grabs John’s chin, turning his face to his. He runs a hand through his short blond locks, and the omega leans in to the touch. The taller man brushes his lips lightly across John’s before pulling away. It’s obvious that this…well, boy, really, hasn’t had much affection. He seems to crave it, pressing himself against the alpha. Sherlock isn’t sure if it’s the heat talking or if it’s just John, wanting to interact with another human being.

“He was the head omega. He took care of us. He was the oldest so it was his job to make sure all the little ones were fed and taken care of. He also gave us lessons.” John swallows roughly against the emotion and his eyes flick towards Sherlock nervously. 

“How many of you are there?” He gently massages John’s shoulder and runs his nose up John’s neck, lightly scenting him. The smaller man shivers in response, tilting his head to the side to give Sherlock better access.

“At any given time there are about thirty of us, but we come and go so fast, it’s hard to keep track. Some of us have been here for years, while others are only here a few days. Those are the lucky ones. They don’t experience what we do.” John sighs. “Some are bought right away or are purchased after their first heat with an Alpha. Sometimes we get letters from them, pictures with their children and stuff. Those of us that aren’t purchased are kept in the house and our heats are bought by Alphas every month. There’s only a handful of us. Most parents of omegas use Mr. Clarke as a kind of matchmaker. They pay him to find their child a rich Alpha, and once they do, the omega is the alpha’s responsibility to take care of the omega and his or her family. Those who aren’t sent here by their parents are kept as slaves and it’s the head omega’s job to keep track of heats and feed the younger ones. Michael was our head Omega until Clarke told us he was purchased a few days ago. He was great, because not only would he feed us and keep track of our heats, but he also gave us lessons,” John blushes a little in pride. “I’m almost up to the reading level I should be.”

Sherlock gives a sharp intake of breath and John looks at him. It’s obviously getting difficult for John to think with the pheromones flooding his senses, and his eyes keep straying to Sherlock’s chest and his slowly hardening Alpha cock. 

“Please…sir. I need it.” He whimpers reaching for Sherlock’s penis. The heat is beginning to affect him as well, and he allows John to touch him, leisurely sliding his foreskin up over the head of his erection. 

“It’s Sherlock. My name is Sherlock.” He pushes John down onto his front, running his hands across the smooth skin of his back and down his ass. Long pale fingers flutter down his thighs, gathering up the thin liquid and shoving his fingers in his mouth. He moans slightly at the tangy taste of the omega’s musk. John moans, bucking his hips against the sheets, his smaller omega cock smearing pre-cum across the sheets. 

“Please!” John cried, and Sherlock knelt between his knees, nudging them across. The head of his arousal pushes against his soft slippery hole and he moans at the contact. 

“Oh God, John. You’re so wet and ready.” He buries his nose in the sandy blond hair, inhaling the delicious smell of his shampoo. He enters John in one smooth thrust, allowing himself time to adjust to the searing heat that is pure John, surrounding his cock. They moan together, and Sherlock gasps, clutching at the smaller man’s hips. 

Sherlock pulls out, allowing just the head of his cock to stay inside of the hot sweet heat. His hips undulate, steadily thrusting in and out of the omega. All he can think, see and feel is the body underneath him meeting him thrust for thrust. Suddenly, John tosses his head back, resting his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. His hole is clenching around Sherlock’s prick and ropes of cum are painting the sheets underneath him. He can feel the knot forming at the base of his cock and with a growl he pushes it in as far as it will go, locking them together as he comes. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When the knot finally deflates and Sherlock slides out, John rolls over to look him in the eye. 

“Michael was like a brother to me. Whatever you want to know, ask. I’ll do anything to help you find his killer.” He croaks, his voice almost completely wrecked. 

“Ok, just out of curiosity, who’s the head Omega now?” Sherlock pulls him toward him and John rests his chin on Sherlock’s chest. 

“Me.” John shrugs and Sherlock stares. 

“Someone has to take care of the little ones.” 

“When you say ‘little ones’, how young are some of these omegas?” Sherlock asks, shoving his fingers through John’s hair, his eyes drifting shut after. 

John’s mouth closes so fast, Sherlock can almost hear his teeth clack. He rolls over, turning his back to the detective and curling into the fetal position. 

“What? What was it I said?” Sherlock inquires, placing a hand delicately on the curve of John’s waist.

“Nothing, I just don’t want to talk about this,” John insisted stubbornly. 

“John…please.” He pulled the omega closer, spooning him. He rested his chin on top of the blond’s, running his fingers down his side. 

John sighs grudgingly, rolling over to look at the detective. “Eight was the youngest, but currently our youngest is ten. They just help around the house. Their first heat will go for more than my last ten heats combined. That won’t happen until they’re about sixteen though.” John says, nuzzling the thin black hair that dusts Sherlock’s chest. 

“I see. What happens when the heats stop?”

“That doesn’t happen until about 40, but we’ve never had an omega be here until they’re 40. All are purchased by alphas sometime before they turn 30. Every alpha wants an omega to carry their children. alpha/omega couples are more likely to have alpha or omega children, and with the prejudice against betas, most alphas prefer omegas. Plus we’re more docile and obedient.” John states, curling his nose in distaste at the words ‘docile’ and ‘obedient’. 

“I don’t think that that’s necessarily the case any more. Betas and omegas aren’t as prejudiced against any more. We’re all just people, no matter who we decide to love.” Sherlock says and John snorts. 

“You’re a fool if you think that.” John swings a leg over his waist and looks down at him. “Look at us. You’re purchasing an omega’s heat. How many betas are kept and sold? How many alphas?” 

Sherlock stares at him. No one has ever called him a fool before. “How did you get involved in this?”

“I was taken when I was 11. I had just been diagnosed as an omega and I was shoved into a van while walking home from school one day.” John shrugs. “That was that.” 

“But that’s illegal!” Sherlock exclaims and John laughs bitterly. 

“So is this, and here we are. Illegal things happen all the time. I thought that as a detective you would know that.” The heat is beginning to take him again, and Sherlock is slowly getting hard again. John reaches behind him to gently stroke Sherlock’s erection to full hardness. 

“But didn’t you try to escape? Don’t you want to go home?” He gasps, his eyes closing at the feel of an omega’s tiny hands around his shaft. 

John stops, a look of sadness playing across his face. “Of course I do. It’s impossible. We’re locked in the house during the day, locked in the dormitory at night. Security guards patrol the grounds day and night. The only way out is to get purchased and hope the alpha that buys you is kind.” He puts his hands on the mattress next to Sherlock’s head leaning forward, then slowly lowers himself onto Sherlock’s rigid arousal with a gasp. 

“John, I don’t think this is as widespread as you believe.” Sherlock groans as John grinds down. 

“I just said, it doesn’t matter if it is. The thirty of us could be the only thirty omegas who are kept, and it wouldn’t matter. The only way we’re getting out is if we’re purchased.” John bounces slightly, and Sherlock reaches down, grabbing his cock and pulling. He focuses entirely on John’s heat, the engorged flesh that is purple at the tip, the foreskin only slightly retracted. He rubs his thumb just under the sensitive head, working the tight nerves there. 

John moans at the contact, and he quickly finds completion his cum spurting between Sherlock’s knuckles, and as he does, Sherlock shoves in hard. A few more thrusts and Sherlock can feel his knot growing. As they are locked together, Sherlock wonders at the feeling-the feeling of being one with another human being who he has actually enjoyed speaking to. 

“Maybe after this, I’ll purchase you.” He gasps out as his orgasm overtakes him. John smiles down at him. 

“The nice ones always say that.” He buries his head under Sherlock’s chin and dozes off, the knot still buried in his ass. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Four days passes in a haze, and Sherlock is able to gain a fair amount of information from John. They have one last go, and this time, his knot doesn’t even form, and that is how he knows that the heat is over. For some reason, his heart pulls at the thought of leaving John. John also looks slightly forlorn. He pulls the dirty sheet around his shoulders, hiding his body from view.

John brushes his lips across Sherlock’s forehead. “Take care of yourself, Sherlock.” 

He grabs at John’s wrist. “I’ll talk to Clarke. You’ll be at my flat at the end of the week.” 

“We’ll see.” He smiles, pushing Sherlock’s fringe out of his face. “Good bye, Sherlock. Take care of yourself.”


	2. Saved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock hears of twenty dead omegas in a warehouse, he jumps into action, hoping that John isn't among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Let me just say, you guys are awesome. I was so unsure of this fic in the beginning. It had been rolling around in my head for a few months, and I was glad that other people liked it as well. So, here's chapter 2 a day early. I'm not posting chapters until the next one is done, so chapter 3 is finished, but won't be posted until 4 is done. Remember-comments and kudos are awesome, keep them coming! Any constructive criticisms or love is welcome.

Sherlock spends the next month desperately trying to find John. After the heat, Mr. Clarke had refused to sell John to him, and he had lost his head. When Anthea had gone back to try and gloss everything over, the mansion was deserted. 

The case is practically solved. In the end it was relatively simple. The older an omega got, the less likely he or she was to be purchased. Michael Toby hadn’t had been purchased in four months and hadn’t had a heat in three. Obviously he had been disposed of because he was a drain on resources. Dull.

What wasn’t dull, however, was finding John. None of the neighbors had seen anyone leaving the mansion and the entire place was cleared. They must have gotten wind that Sherlock was investigating. 

Sherlock is pacing the lounge at 221B Baker Street in his pajamas and dressing gown when his phone dings with a text. 

_Crime scene near Battersea Station. Will you come? -GL_

Sherlock snorts. Doesn’t Lestrade know that he has other things on his mind?

_Details? –SH_

Only several seconds pass before there’s a response. 

_20 dead omegas found in warehouse. Sending address now. –GL_

Sherlock’s heart stops.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He arrives at the block of warehouses and sees Lestrade waving him over. 

“It’s a bloodbath in there, Sherlock, so be careful.” The DI says roughly, and Sherlock ignores him. The tangy smell of blood washes over him and he fights down the rising bile. Twenty dead bodies are laid out on the ground, and Sherlock quickly pieces together what happened. 

They were being kept here temporarily. Beds were lined up against the wall in a dormitory style. They had been sleeping and the killer had entered quietly, the first two omegas were still in bed when he had shot them. They could be sleeping if not for the bullet holes in the back of their heads. The shots had woken up the other omegas and they had run for the door where he had been waiting. 

He swallows. “How many survivors?” Sherlock scans the bodies, but none have the precise shade of blond hair that he’s looking for. 

“Ten. They’ve all been taken to St. Bart’s.” Lestrade holds his sleeve up to his nose to block the smell of blood. “The older one isn’t looking too good. He’s in surgery. According to the younger ones he told them to smear blood on themselves and pretend to be dead. Then he went to reason with the killer. He saved them. Probably killed himself, but he saved the young ones.” He shakes his head in disbelief. "Poor fuck." 

“I need to interview them.” Bile is rising in his throat. He hopes to God that John is the older omega that Lestrade is talking about. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The cab pulls up to St. Bart’s and Sherlock rushes in. Mycroft is waiting for him, and he snarls at him. 

“Is it him, Mycroft?”

His brother sighs. “Sherlock, calm down.” 

“No. Is it him, Mycroft?” 

“It is. He’s in surgery. The younger omegas tried to take care of him for almost two days before one of them escaped to get help.” He sighs and Sherlock snorts. 

“Idiots.” 

“They did the best they could, Sherlock. They probably saved his life.” Mycroft taps his umbrella against the sterile white linoleum impatiently and the fight seems to leave the tall alpha. 

“Alright, alright. Tell me what’s going on.” He sinks into one of the cheap plastic chairs and runs a shaky hand across his face. 

“Bullet wound to the left shoulder. Possible infection. The bullet entered in the front and shattered upon impact. Most of the pieces exited out of the back, but they have to get the rest out.” Mycroft sits himself gently down on the chair next to him and stares. 

“What?” He growls and Mycroft shrugs. 

“I’ve just never seen you behave this way. All this sentiment over an omega, Sherlock?” He brushes a piece of invisible lint off the lapel of his suit and Sherlock stiffens.

“I may have…misjudged the importance of omegas.” The words are ripped from his throat and Mycroft smiles.

“Omegas in general, or this one omega?” 

“Don’t push it, Mycroft.” 

“What makes him different? What’s changed?” Mycroft taps his umbrella impatiently against the lino and Sherlock sighs.

“I’m not sure. He’s…interesting. I want to know everything about him.” 

They sit for awhile in silence and Sherlock can’t help himself from fidgeting. Nerves are slowly building inside of him, and though he’s never believed in a higher power, he sends a prayer to whatever deity is listening that John survives. 

A pair of wooden automatic doors opens inwardly and a female doctor comes out clutching a clipboard. She’s still in her slightly bloody surgical scrubs, and the sight of John’s blood on her makes him want to vomit.

She approaches them and they stand. 

“Mr. Holmes, my name is Dr. Ravendale. I’m the surgeon who worked on the omega who came in from the crime scene…” she began.

“John. His name is John.” Sherlock snarls, but she is able to silence him with a slight raise of the eyebrows. 

“Yes, well, anyway, we were able to remove all of the shrapnel from his shoulder and set the broken leg. The broken ribs will have to heal on their own, however.” She smiles slightly. “He does have a mild infection that we’re giving him antibiotics for, but that should be cleared up in a week or so. He’s in a recovery room right now and then we’re going to move him to a regular room. He’ll have to come back three times a week for physical therapy so he can regain full movement in the shoulder, but he should heal up nicely.” At this she grins and Sherlock sinks back into his chair in relief. 

“Can I see him?” He asks, and she looks uneasy. 

“Are you family?” She asks, but she already knows the answer. 

“Ah, unfortunately…” Mycroft begins, but Sherlock jumps to his feet. 

“Yes, unfortunately we aren’t family yet. He’s my potential bondmate. We were going to wait for the holidays to bond, but then this happened…” As the words leave his mouth, he knows that he wants them desperately to come true. He wants to bond with John. He’s tired of being alone at 221B. He wants someone to share his life with. He’s never wanted this before. Perhaps he got addicted to the pheromones, or maybe he’s finally grown up as Mycroft has been telling him to do for the past fifteen years. Or maybe he’s just found someone who can stand being around him.

The look that she gives him says that she knows it’s a lie, but she’s willing to overlook it.

“Then of course you can see him. He’s still pretty out of it, so don’t be surprised if he doesn’t wake up.” She pats him lightly on the arm and he follows her into the bowels of the hospital. 

As a man who is almost constantly surrounded by clutter, the sterile environment gives him the shivers. The hallways seem never ending. They make so many different turns that Sherlock vaguely wonders how normal people are able to find their way to and from the recovery room. 

The doctor leads him into a large room with several hospital beds that are separated by thin curtains. A large desk with several computers is in the center and several doctors and nurses are buzzing around, checking on patients, dispensing medication and checking vitals. She guides him to the far bed.

John is lying completely motionless on the hospital bed, his head slightly raised. His right eye is swollen shut and there’s bruising across his left cheekbone. He’s much thinner than Sherlock remembers, bordering on emaciated. A sheet is pulled up to his stomach and there’s a wide swath of bandages taped to his left shoulder and his skin looks strange. He’s pale from blood loss but also slightly flushed from fever. 

“I can give you about fifteen minutes then you’ll have to leave. I’ll have the nurses call you when he’s moved to a regular room if you want to go home and get some clothes.” Dr. Ravendale says gently and he shakes his head.

“No, I’ll wait in the waiting room until you’ve moved him.” He sits down next to John and reaches for his right hand. He gently massages his hand and brings it up to his cheek.

“Please wake up John.” The omega scent is dulled slightly due to the sterility of the hospital and the fact that John isn’t in heat. It smells slightly different, but he chalks it up to the awful hospital smell. 

The omega’s eyelashes flutter slightly across his cheekbones and Sherlock gently brushes his fringe out of his eyes. His left eye slides open and he floats toward consciousness. 

“Sh’lock?” He slurs and Sherlock shushes him. 

“You shouldn’t speak.” He gently draws circles with his thumb on the back of John’s hand. 

“Jonah? Lizzie?” He asks and Sherlock shakes his head.

“I’m not sure. I’ll find out about them.” 

John nods then groans. “You came for me.” 

“I’ll always come for you, John.” He says with a smile, and he realizes that he genuinely means it. It’s not just words of comfort to an injured omega. If this happened again, he’d find him. “You should rest, now. They’re going to move you to a regular room soon, and I’ll stay with you there.” 

“You should go home.” He says blearily. “Get rest.” 

“No, I’ll stay. Sleep now.” He whispers and John’s eye slides shut. In only takes a matter of a few seconds for his breathing to even out. When he’s sure that he’s asleep, Sherlock releases John’s hand and steps toward the nurses desk. 

“Here is my mobile number.” He says, jotting it down on a spare bit of paper with a pen. “Call me when they move him, will you?” 

“Sure thing, sir.” The nurse nods, a blush rising on her cheeks and her eyelids fluttering rapidly. He sniffs and realizes that she’s an omega as well, and she’s clearly trying to flirt with him. He rolls his eyes and leaves, intent on finding Mycroft. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He finds his brother talking in hushed whispers to Lestrade in the waiting room, and they both stop and stare at him when he approaches. 

“Lestrade, I need the list of Omegas who were recovered from the crime scene. John is asking after a Jonah and a Lizzie.” Sherlock says, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Sherlock, I don’t think…” Lestrade starts.

“I don’t care what you think, Lestrade!” Sherlock explodes. “Just give me the list, God damn it!”

The entire room falls silent, and Sherlock immediately feels guilty. 

Lestrade pushes him toward the vending machines and shoves him roughly against one. “Listen here, you little shit, there are twenty Omegas who are dead and God only knows who the killer is. I realize that you have a hard on for this one omega, but it would be really great if you could get your head on straight and realize that he’s not going to be very pleased when he realizes you’re devoting all of your time to him and none of it to the investigation.” He releases him and Sherlock straightens his collar.

“Right. Tell me what you have.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Of course the idiot comes to him. Why wouldn’t he? He’s proven himself to be dependable. “Clarke”, as he calls himself, on the other hand, has just proven himself to be an imbecile. They meet in broad daylight in the middle of Regents Park. He throws breadcrumbs at ducks and takes a long drag on his cigarette. He tries his best to look innocent, but really it’s just tedious. 

“Those’ll kill you, you know.” The moron says and he grins. 

“Well, might as well go out in style.” He drawls.

“Sir…NSY and Sherlock Holmes are on to us.” The twit plunks down next to him on the park bench and he wrinkles his nose.

“No, they aren’t.” 

“Sir, Sherlock Holmes was at the mansion. He knows about the whole operation. One of my idiot Omegas told him.” He growls out.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that Sherlock Holmes and those morons at NSY aren’t on to _you_ but I, of course, have no involvement.” He flicks his ash at the other man who pales. “In fact, if you even consider mentioning my name, I’ll make sure you’re wiped off the face of the planet.” 

“You’d really kill me?” He stammers. 

“Oh no, I wouldn’t kill you. Frankly that’s all a bit below me. But I would erase every digital trace of you. No birth certificate, no credit cards, no driver’s license, all that…jazz.” He waggles his fingers at him and tosses another hunk of bread at a duck’s head. “Oh, would you like some bread to feed the ducks?” He holds the bag out blandly, and the man who calls himself Clarke shakes his head. 

“So you won’t help me? Not at all?” He looks bewildered, and the other man smiles. 

“I’ll offer you a small piece of advice. Get out of the country. That’s all you can do.” He stands, setting the empty bag on his now vacant seat. He brushes a crumb off of his Westwood suit and smiles. “Have a stellar day.” He waggles his fingers goodbye and strides off, whistling.

It isn’t until after he’s gone that Clarke notices that all of the ducks are dead.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sherlock arrives at the mansion, and the place is eerily quiet. Several muddy footprints litter the foyer, and he scoops some of it into one of the small evidence bags that he always carries with him. It takes him several minutes, but he eventually finds Clarke’s study. It’s richly furnished in dark wood and green carpet. Exactly the type of thing one would expect a high-powered lawyer to have in his home, and Sherlock scoffs at it. Obviously overcompensating. If this man is as idiotic as he seems, he’ll be able to find him in no time. 

He sits in the chair behind the desk and logs on to the computer, guessing the password in only two tries. It takes a little longer to find the list of properties, but a quick perusal shows that the man owns the warehouse in which the dead Omegas were found as well as three cars, a flat in SoHo and a home in Notting Hill. He texts both addresses to Lestrade and shoves a memory stick into the USB drive of the computer, dragging all of the information into the little folder before ejecting it. 

He quickly pulls up the internet history, which leads him to British Airways website. Sherlock rolls his eyes. Of course he would make this easy. In no time at all, he is able to pull up the flight number, and also texts that to Lestrade. 

Simple. Easy. Dull.

He gives a precursory glance at the desk. Right next to the keyboard is a small slip of paper with an untidy scrawl. 

_M. Regent Park. 10:30._

Sherlock shoves the paper in his pocket before leaving.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two hours later, Sherlock gets a call from the same simpering omega he gave his phone number to. John has been moved to a private room. He thanks her and hangs up before she can say any more. He is sitting across from Clarke, whose real name is Timothy Witte and who is looking distinctly disheveled. It had taken less than an hour to find him in the executive club at Heathrow, enjoying a whisky before his flight for Argentina. His hands are cuffed in front of him.

Lestrade is sitting next to him and he stands. “Well, I must go interview the omegas that you failed to murder.” The man pales at this, but it makes Sherlock smile. “Have fun, Lestrade.” 

He leaves NSY and hails a cab to St. Bart’s. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There are two omegas standing by John’s bedside when he arrives, and he has to fight down the urge to pull them away from him. 

"Jonah and Lizzie, I presume?” He says, sliding his scarf off of his neck. They huddle together and flinch away from him, but he holds out both hands to show that he’s unarmed. 

“My name is Sherlock. I’m here to help. I need to ask you some questions.” He says, settling himself into the armchair that most hospitals have in every hospital room. 

They are still wary of him and he can’t blame them. He grasps John’s hand and the girl hisses at him. 

“Don’t touch him!” She snarls and he lets go. 

“I told you, I’m a friend. I’m here to help. Tell me what happened.” He rests both hands on the bed next to John and the boy tugs the girl back and whispers in her ear. 

“You said your name is Sherlock?” The boy asks timidly. Sherlock nods. “Are you the Alpha who purchased John’s heat last month?” Sherlock nods again.

“It’s because of you that all those omegas are dead!” The girl shouts and Sherlock has the good grace to flinch. “Clarke found out that you and NSY were investigating us so he moved us to the warehouse. He was paranoid that we would be found.” 

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock says thickly. He very rarely says it, so he hopes that these…children know how much he means it.

“Yes well, that’s not going to bring them back is it?” She mutters darkly. The boy approaches him, holding a hand out. Sherlock grips it and the girl growls. 

“John spoke very highly of you.” Jonah says sweetly. “Are you going to purchase him now?”

“There’s no need. None of you need to be purchased. You’ll be able to find Alphas on your own. No more selling your heats. You can start families of your own, or go back to your parents.” Sherlock says comfortingly. 

Suddenly, the girl looks frantic. “They’re going to separate us?” She rushes forward, pulling Jonah back towards her. “They can’t do that!”

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out. How old are you, Lizzie?” He says soothingly.

Her mind is obviously working a mile a minute, trying to decide if she should tell him or not. Finally, she comes to a conclusion. “Twelve,” she says grudgingly. 

“And you, Jonah?” He asks gently. 

“Thirteen.” 

“How long have you been with John?” 

“Two years.” Jonah says.

“A year and a half.” Lizzie volunteers. 

“Don’t you have parents? How did you come to live at that house?” His hand has found its way back to John’s and Lizzie stares him. 

“It doesn’t matter. Our parents don’t care about us, otherwise they would have gotten us long ago.” Lizzie sniffs. 

“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” He smiles. There’s a light knock at the door. Mycroft and Lestrade are standing in the doorway. 

“This is my brother Mycroft and DI Lestrade. Will you go with them?” He asks gently and Jonah nods before Lizzie can retort. Jonah approaches John again and kisses his forehead. 

“Get better, Johnny.” He steps away and walks toward Lestrade. Lizzie is glaring between the two men and Sherlock, but she approaches John as well. 

“You can’t die on me, Johnny.” She whispers. “I’ll be back. Don’t die. Please.” She follows behind Jonah warily. 

As soon as they’re gone, Sherlock brings John’s hand up to his face and kisses the palm lightly. It seems as if hours pass, and perhaps they do. Nurses come and go, taking John’s vital signs and replacing an empty IV. 

A little while later, John’s eye slides open and he smiles sleepily at him. 

“Hey.” He whispers hoarsely. 

“Hello.” 

“Have you been home at all?” He asks and Sherlock shakes his head. 

“Right. Well, you should go home.” He tries to scoot further up in bed but winces at the movement. 

“John, you need to lie still. You’ve just had major surgery.” He stands, fluffing John’s pillows. 

“Right. Well.” He’s at a loss for words. Emotion is welling up inside of him and it’s all he can do to keep it in. His eyes slide away from Sherlock and towards the ceiling. 

“Hey. It’s ok. Do you want to talk about it?” The alpha runs his fingers down John’s face, wiping away the tears that are gathering under his eyes.

“Not really, but you have to know, right? If you want to catch him?” John whispers shakily. 

“We already have Clarke.” Sherlock states and John inhales sharply.

“You do?” 

“Yes. But if you want to talk about it, we can.” Sherlock grabs his hand again and John shakes his head. 

“It’s my fault. My fault that they’re all dead.” 

“John…” He starts, but John interrupts him.

“No. It is my fault. After you left, I told Lizzie and Jonah that you were investigating Clarke. I told them that we probably wouldn’t be there very long. He overheard me.” John whispers shakily. “He heard me. Later that week we were moved to the warehouse. He was hardly ever there and there wasn’t enough food for all of us. The little ones kept begging me for food, but I didn’t have any. When I heard the door open that night, all I could think was, ‘Finally. It’s about time he brought food.’ Then I heard the gunshots. Lizzie and Jonah were in bed next to me, and I could hear the Emily and Micah screaming. I told Lizzie and Jonah to get down on the ground and pretend to be dead and to tell the others to do the same. I thought maybe if I could talk to him he’d stop. He…” John swallows roughly. “He punched me and kicked me and…God, it hurt so bad. Then he shot me. I just wanted to get back to Lizzie and Jonah, but I knew that if I moved he’d probably shoot me in the head, so I didn’t move. After a few minutes, he left and I crawled over to Jonah to make sure he was okay. They tried to stop the bleeding in my shoulder…I told them to stop and run for help for the others, but they wouldn’t leave me. That’s the last thing I remember.” 

The silence in the room is almost overwhelming. When John finally gets the courage to look at the alpha, he wants to flinch away from the pitying look. 

“John, it’s not your fault. You didn’t cause this. He caused this.” Sherlock says gently. 

“If you say so.” John says ruefully, and Sherlock squeezes his hand. 

“I do. I’m never wrong, John.” The Alpha grins and John shakes his head.

“What am I going to do?” He whispers.

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asks.

“I don’t have anywhere to go. No home. No family. Jonah and Lizzie are lucky. Their families are probably still looking for them. Mine’s probably given up.” He closes his eyes as tears begin to leak out of the corner of his eyes. 

“John…I’d like you to come stay with me.” Sherlock whispers and John’s eyes fly open.

“I couldn’t impose on you like that…” He says, even though it’s clear he wants to say yes.

“I want to bond with you. I want you to be my Omega. I want you to move in to my flat and be there every morning when I wake up. Please say yes.” The words leave Sherlock in a rush and John just stares at him blankly.

“We hardly know each other. We’ve spent five days together rarely talking. I don’t think that that’s much to go on.” 

“Well then, come stay with me and we’ll get to know each other. Please, John. You’re the only person who doesn’t make me what to scream in frustration. I…care for you.” It’s more difficult to say than Sherlock thought, but now that it’s out, he wants John to say yes.

“Well, since I don’t have anywhere else to go, I might as well.” John says with a laugh and Sherlock grins.

“Get some more rest. You have a long recovery ahead of you.” Sherlock says and John smiles.

“You too. Go home and sleep.” John waves him away and Sherlock settles back into the armchair.

“I have some reading I need to catch up on. I’ll stay here.” He pulls a file out of a bag by his feet and John shakes his head. 

“Whatever you say, Sherlock.” He closes his eyes. Sherlock smiles and opens the file. 

“Sherlock.” John whispers, and his gaze rises from the file to the man lying in the hospital chair. 

“Yes, John?”

“Thank you.” 

“Go to sleep, John.” Sherlock whispers and John nods. “Good night.”


	3. Good News and a Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John learn that not everything is 100% effective and Sherlock is drawn into another case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome. Seriously. Your comments and kudos are the light in my life. They fuel my writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter because it practically had to be ripped from my brain. Hopefully the next one goes better.

John wakes to an early morning sunlight filtering through the blinds. His entire body feels heavy, and his shoulder feels as if it’s on fire. A soft clicking noise is coming from somewhere to his left, and he turns his head, wincing at the burn in his tendons from the movement. 

Sherlock is sitting cross-legged in the blue and tan armchair that the hospital shoves in every standard hospital room. His laptop is perched on his knees and he is completely absorbed in whatever he’s doing. John smiles slightly at the sight until the burning in his shoulder gets to be too much. He gropes blindly for the call button, and within seconds a tiny omega nurse is bustling into the room.

At first, he doesn’t believe that she’s the nurse. Sherlock had told him that omegas were nurses, lawyers and such, but he didn’t really believe him. But now, here’s the evidence right in front of him. Blue hospital issued scrubs are pulled tight across her pregnant belly and her dark brown hair is pulled back into a high ponytail. She has a round, kind face and she’s carrying a fresh IV, a syringe and a small phial full of clear liquid. 

“Good morning! My name is Tempe, I’ll be your nurse this morning.” She sets her medical paraphernalia at the end of the bed and pulls the computer that’s on a rolling podium up to her, quickly logging in.

“Good morning…” John says warily. 

“I just have a few questions for you.” She glances at him over the screen with a small smile. “We didn’t get all your information when you were admitted.”

“Alright.” John says uneasily. He glances at Sherlock who still hasn’t looked at him and wonders if he’s made the alpha angry for some reason. Nervousness is building in his belly and his stomach turns slightly. 

“What’s your last name, love?” She pushes the computer right beside him so she can make eye contact with him while he’s answering her questions. 

“Uh, Watson.” He says, stumbling over it a bit. He hasn’t given his last name in almost ten years. Hasn’t even really thought about it. 

“Alright.” She types his last name into the computer. “And do you remember how you broke your leg?”

“Yes.” A blush rises in his cheeks and he can’t meet her eyes.

“How?” She asks sternly, and he clears his throat.

“I was, uh, trying to reason with someone and they didn’t like what I had to say.” He says lamely. She stares hard at him, but she lets it slide. 

“Ok. Do you have any allergies that you know of?” She pats his leg and he gives an imperceptible shake of the head. 

“Are you on any medications now?”

“No. But I was on omega contraception.” John says guiltily. It’s slightly embarrassing to be discussing contraception with an omega who clearly has no use for it. 

“It’s alright, love.” She grins again and he’s immediately put at ease. “Last question. When was your last heat?”

“Uh…” He glances at Sherlock.

“January 25th through the 30th.” The alpha says, without even stopping typing. 

“So…over a month ago?” She asks, eyebrows raised. 

John’s heart stops. His eyes slide over to Sherlock who is finally looking up from his laptop. He’s staring at the nurse with a surprised expression, as if she’s said something that doesn’t quite make sense. 

“We’ll do blood work.” She says with a smile.

Bile is rising in his throat. He feels like he’s going to vomit. His breath is coming in sharp pants. His shoulder is burning and it seems like everything has narrowed down to the tiny nurse who is patting his hand reassuringly. 

Her mouth is moving, but he can’t hear any of the words that are coming out. Everything seems to have narrowed down to just this woman's mouth moving and he feels as if he is either going to throw up or faint. 

“John.” Sherlock is resting his hand on John’s forearm, and John jerks away from him, hissing when the muscles in his injured shoulder pull.

“What did you say?” He asks the nurse dumbly and she looks at him in sympathy. 

“Omega contraception is only about 85% effective, unfortunately. We’ll have to do blood work to make sure, but I suspect you may be pregnant.” 

“No. No.” He sinks into the bed and Sherlock attempts to wrap an arm around his shoulders, but he pulls away. “Please, just, leave me alone, Sherlock. Please.” 

He can’t even look at the alpha. Sherlock is obviously trying to get his attention, but he can’t bear to look at him. He knows that Sherlock doesn’t want children. It was one of the first things he told him back at the mansion. Hell, Sherlock had still been knotted inside him, probably impregnating him right at that second when he had ground out that he didn’t want children. And now…John had screwed up. It hit him how much he wanted to bond with Sherlock, to move in with him and to finally have a normal life. All that was slipping through his grasp. Sherlock wouldn’t want him anymore. Why would he? John was just some dirty, used omega who Sherlock had gotten up the duff. It was funny, John thought, how much you could want something you weren’t even aware that you wanted. 

Now where would he go? He didn’t have any skills to speak of, the most he could do would be secretarial work, but even that was slim-he wasn’t great with computers. The only time he’d ever even used a computer was when Clarke would have him enter dates into the online calendar he kept. He’d probably end up working in a fast food restaurant or a grocery store, pregnant, living in a flat share with an infant on the way. 

The door clicks shut softly, and he snaps out of his reverie, finally noticing that the nurse had shooed Sherlock from the room and is now sitting beside him. 

“Are you okay, sugar?” Tempe’s brow is furrowed in worry.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He whispers sadly and she sighs. 

“Oh honey. There are tons of options out there for you. I’ll give you the number of a safe house. They take in pregnant omegas and give them food, shelter and help them find jobs until they can get on their feet.”

John blinks in shock. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.” 

“Well, let’s see if you’re really pregnant first, huh?” She says before rising. It takes her a moment to get to her feet. 

“How far along are you?” He asks nodding at her abdomen. 

“32 weeks.” She opens a drawer and withdraws a small basket with needles, phials, a long strip of rubber and a little rubber ball.

“And your alpha lets you out of the house?” He questions and she smiles with a little shake of the head. 

“Of course. We’re equal partners. I’m pretty sure he knows that if he tried to make me stay at home he’d be sleeping on the couch or over at his brother’s house.” She grins, reaching for his right arm, which he dutifully holds out. 

She’s so good, he doesn’t even feel the needle sliding into his arm. She keeps him entertained with stories about her alpha the entire time she’s drawing blood. 

“I just wish my life could be normal.” He says dejectedly and she gives a small sympathetic smile.

“What about that alpha that just left?” She nods toward the door and he swallows against the vomit that he feels is rising. 

“I’m sure you know my story. I haven’t seen my parents since I was ten. I lived with other omegas and my heats were given to the alpha who could pay the most. When Sherlock showed up, I thought he was the same. Some rich fuck who couldn’t string two words together and who would pretty much ignore me except to stick his cock in. But then he started talking. He took one look at me and he knew exactly how long I had been living in that house, how old I was, what I had for breakfast that morning. He also told me that he was going to save us. He actually wanted to know about my life. He _cared_. But one of the first things he said was that he’d never experienced a heat with an omega, because he didn’t want children. What is he going to do if I’m pregnant? I can’t let him take me in. All of a sudden he’ll have an omega and a baby on the way? I can’t make him do that.” He sobs the last part out, allowing his grief to rise, and she frowns. 

“He’s allowed to change his mind you know. People change their mind all the time.” 

“Not this kind of stuff.” He shakes his head and winces, bringing his right hand to his left shoulder. 

“Well, if you’re serious about this working, you should talk to him about it.” She sets the small phial of blood by the computer and nods at his shoulder. “If you can handle it, we should probably take you off of the morphine if you do end up pregnant.” 

John gives a little nod and she replaces the IV. “Are you alright, can I get you anything?” 

“No, I’m fine.” He runs his hand across his face, rubbing at the stubble on his jaw. “Except, could you find me a razor and some cream? I need a shave.” 

“Sure thing honey.” She steps to the door. “Should I send him back in?” 

“I guess.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sherlock closes the door behind him and sidesteps his way to the wall next to the door. Clutching his laptop to his chest, he slides down to a crouch, feeling himself beginning to hyperventilate. So many emotions were running through him. Pride. _He_ had gotten John pregnant where others had failed. Worry. How the _fuck_ was he going to raise a child? He’d be an awful father. The chances of his child getting an acid burn from a rogue experiment were astronomical. Happiness. He wasn’t sure why he felt so happy. He shouldn’t feel this way. He had made up his mind long ago that child rearing wasn’t for him. And yet, the thought of him and John raising a child together was incredibly appealing. Bringing an infant home to Mrs. Hudson, dropping a toddler off at play school, walking a five year old to their first day of kindergarten. A small dark haired, blue eyed child who giggled manically at him and who was always asking why. He was in love already. Warmth seeped through him. He had told everyone he had ever known that he would never had children, but with John, everything had changed. With John, he feels…normal. 

He straightens up, strengthening his resolve. He’s going to give John the life that he deserves. The life he’s always wanted, no matter the cost. 

The door opens and the tiny pregnant omega emerges. “You can go in now, sweetie.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock gives her a small smile and walks back into the hospital room. 

His phone dings with a text and he reaches into his pocket for his mobile and glances at the screen. 

_Clarke believed to commit suicide in Pentonville last night. Could use your expertise.—GL_

_Believed? There’s a doubt?—SH_

Sherlock glances up at John. The omega’s eyes are closed, but he’s obviously still awake. He’s too stiff to be sleeping. He doesn’t want to look at Sherlock, clearly. 

_I’ll be there in about an hour.—SH_

“John?” He approaches the bed and John flinches at the sound of his voice. “John, will you please look at me?” He sets himself down in the chair again.

The omega gives a small shake of the head. “I can’t.” 

“John. Please.” He grabs John’s hands, and at the touch of the alpha’s hands, his eyes fly open. 

“Sherlock…please. If you want to go, go. Don’t drag this out. I’ll have it taken care of. Please.” John whispers and Sherlock pales. 

“John, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I don’t want this ‘taken care of’. I want you to come home with me. Bond with me. Have this baby with me. Please.” He runs his hands through John’s hair and the omega’s eyes widen. 

“No. You don’t want this. You go home now. Don’t come back.” He closes his eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath. “I can’t do this to you.” 

“John, you aren’t doing anything to me. I’m choosing this. I _want_ this. You’re coming home with me when you’re better. I’ll help you get on your feet. If you decide you don’t want to bond, fine. If you decide you don’t want to have this baby, fine. We’ll figure it out. But please, let me help you.” He grips John’s hands, and the blond looks at him blankly. 

“Why have you changed your mind?” God help him, John can feel his resolve crumbling. He had made up his mind that no matter what Sherlock had to say, he would send him away, but now, with him sitting right in front of him, with his hands on him, he can’t seem to say no. He wants to say yes so badly, but everything is screaming at him to save Sherlock from this mess so the alpha can return to his normal life. 

“You. You’ve changed my mind. I…” He swallows. This is probably the most difficult thing he’s ever had to say in his life. He doesn’t _do_ emotion. “I care for you a great deal, John Watson. I’ve never felt like this before. So please, say yes.” 

John is staring at him, as if he can’t quite figure him out. Finally, he breaks into a small smile. “Yes, alright.” 

Sherlock practically whoops in delight. He wants to grab his omega and spin him around in circles. He doesn’t of course, instead he leans in for a kiss. This is the first time they’ve really kissed since John’s heat, and it feels…right. 

John’s lips move against his, and he sighs. His tongue sweeps across the omega’s bottom lip, and his mouth opens to the intrusion. Sherlock’s tongue snakes into John’s mouth and the omega whimpers. Sherlock grins against John’s mouth, and pulls away. He pushes his hand through John’s hair. His hair is longer than he remembers and is in desperate need of a cut. It’s slippery soft, and he wants to tug John’s body against him and inhale the scent of his shampoo.

“I’ll find out when they’re going to release you. I have some things to do. Get the flat ready for you. You’ll probably want your own room, so I’ll have to talk to Mrs. Hudson about renting out the top room of the flat.” Sherlock’s voice is getting gradually more excited, and John can’t help but smile. “I’ll have to talk about renting out 221C as well. I’ll have to move my experiments down there, we can’t have the baby being near any toxic chemicals.” 

“Sherlock, they aren’t going to let me go for a few weeks at least.” John smiles indulgently. 

“Still, better to get it done now than hurry later.” Sherlock says, standing up. “I have to go. Lestrade wants me at a crime scene. Will you be ok until I come back?” 

“Of course. Go. I’ll see you later.” He waves the alpha off, and Sherlock grins, leaning in for another kiss. 

When he straightens up, he adjusts his scarf, looking slightly uncomfortable. “John, I just wanted to say…you’ve made me very happy. The happiest man in the world, in fact.” 

John’s expression softens and he smiles wryly. “Go on you fool. I’ll see you later…and thanks.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sherlock steps out of the cab and goes through the stringent security at Pentonville, depositing his mobile, keys, wallet, and handful of change in his pocket into a plastic bag and leaving it at the front. A guard leads him through the bowels of the prison. It’s early afternoon and all of the cells are empty. He knows that the inmates are probably just out getting their hour of fresh air, but the feeling of a completely empty prison unnerves him. 

He finally comes upon Lestrade and his forensics team in an empty cell. Well, empty except for them and the dead body of Thomas Witte. 

He appears to be almost standing, but on closer investigation, his heels are resting on the floor, his toes pointing almost straight up. One end of his trousers is looped around the bars of the cell, and the other is tightened securely around his neck. His shirt is balled up in a corner, and his eyes are wide and unseeing. There are some light gashes on his chest, not deep enough to have killed him.

“Well, you are right Lestrade. It appears that he killed himself.” Sherlock bends over the body, storing away every detail. “You said the guards found him this way?”

“He was due to meet his lawyer at one and a guard took him over to the meeting room. At that time the alarm for a prisoner brawl went off and all guards were called to the cafeteria. By the time the guard returned to the room, Witte was gone. He was on his way to press the alarm for an escaped prisoner when he passed by Witte’s cell. That’s when he saw the body. It happened in the span of about fifteen minutes.” Lestrade responds. 

“I see.” Sherlock pulls out his retractable magnifying glass and uses it to look at the marks and Lestrade falls silent.

“Yes, someone went to great lengths to make this look like a suicide.” Sherlock is now looking at the marks on his chest. “Question the lawyer. That’s your killer. Although I sincerely doubt he’s actually a lawyer, or that you’ll actually find him.” 

“Right. Why’s that?” Lestrade questions, pulling out a little pad of paper and a pen. 

“The question you should be asking Lestrade is who he owed. Who needed him dead?” Sherlock nods to the marks. Three letters are spelled out, dug into Witte’s chest. IOU.


	4. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock isn't used to having someone else in the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly. Sorry it took me so long to post this. I'm a student teacher, so not only am I going to classes and such at night, but also wrangling those teenagers by day. Oh and grading at night too. And trying to write. And trying to sleep. What I'm saying is, my life is a shambles. So forgive me. I hope this slightly longer chapter makes up for any waiting you all have had to do. I'm on spring break next week, so I'm hoping to get some writing done then. 
> 
> I'm really shocked by the response this has gotten. As a writer and an English teacher, I'm always a little nervous about presenting my work to others, so if anyone has any constructive criticism, please feel free to leave a comment.

“Sherlock, this is ridiculous. Seriously, I can walk.” John complains. A cane is draped across his knees and he sinks a little deeper into the wheelchair that Sherlock is currently pushing him toward the exit of the hospital. John feels as if everyone is staring at him. It’s been ages since he’s been around this many people and it’s slightly disconcerting.

“Nonsense. It’s hospital policy.” Sherlock admonishes and John snorts. 

“Since when do you follow hospital policy?” John inquires and he can practically feel Sherlock’s smug grin behind him. 

“Well, we must leave the nurses with one good memory of us.” 

“ _Us_? _I_ wasn’t the one who insisted on staying past visiting hours and questioning all of the doctors’ diagnoses.” John scoffs, but grins nonetheless. After a little over a month in the hospital, John is itching to be free. The cast on his leg was removed yesterday and this morning his doctor signed his release papers. Now, Sherlock is wheeling him out into the bright sunshine, a London black cab idling at the kerb. His shoulder is healing up nicely, but he still has to rub antiseptic cream onto the scar and cover it, and Sherlock has promised to help him. The muscles in his leg have atrophied slightly, so he also walks with a distinct limp, which the doctor has promised will go away in no time. 

He pulls himself up from the chair, leaning heavily on the cane. Sherlock holds the door open for him and he slides across the cool black leather seat of the cab. Sherlock jumps in after him. “221 Baker Street, please.” 

The cabbie nods and the car takes off through the streets of London. 

John has always wanted to see London. Growing up in a small town in Hampshire, John used to dream of moving to London, maybe going to medical school and becoming a paediatrician. Then he was diagnosed as an omega and kidnapped and that future had seemed to slip through his fingers. Now, even though his future was so uncertain, he feels lighter somehow. He never imagined he would have an alpha, or a life outside of the mansion and now he has both. 

Sherlock reaches across the gap and grasps his hand, squeezing lightly. John smiles at him and slides a little closer. The alpha drapes his arm across the omega’s shoulders and John lays his head on the taller man’s shoulder. The last month in the hospital has caused both of them to become even closer. At first, John had insisted that Sherlock go home every night to sleep, but on his fifth night at the hospital, he had woken to find Sherlock curled behind him, his breath ruffling John’s hair. From that point on, no matter how much the nurses complained, John had insisted that Sherlock be allowed to remain. 

The cab pulls up to the flat and Sherlock rushes out to hold the door open for him. He grins and clambers out, limping toward the door. Sherlock opens the door that says 221B and John follows, struggling to keep up with the alpha on the stairs. Sherlock bounds into the sitting room of the flat, his arms flung wide and a grin on his face. John glances around and is a little shocked by how clean the flat is. He always imagined Sherlock living in a messy flat, being too preoccupied with experiments or cases to clean. 

“Mrs. Hudson helped me clean. I wanted it to be good for you.” Sherlock says sheepishly and John laughs. 

“It looks fantastic.” He sinks into an older armchair with a decorative Union pillow. “Is that a skull?” He uses his cane to point to the mantel and Sherlock nods. 

“An old friend. Well, when I say friend…” Sherlock trails off, picking up a stack of mail and pinning it to the mantel with a pocket knife. 

John snorts and picks up the paper, skimming over it. There’s nothing about the capture of Clarke, and he wonders if that isn’t perhaps why Sherlock is so overprotective of him.

“John…I think we should talk.” Sherlock says uncomfortably, and John sighs, folding the paper back up.

“What about?” 

“Well, I know you would like to finish your schooling, so I’ve hired some tutors to come every day to help you. The first one will be coming tomorrow, she’s going to give you a few tests to see where you fall and then we’ll go from there. Does that sound agreeable?” Sherlock asks and John nods, a little in awe that the alpha has thought this far ahead. 

“After that, we’ll schedule your A levels, then it’s off to college with you…if that’s what you still want.” 

John’s eyes widen. “Sherlock, there’s no way I can go to college. I haven’t been to a proper school in ten years!”

“Nonsense, John. You’ll be fine.” He waves his hand dismissively.

“Sherlock…I’m grateful, really, I am. But I can’t allow you to do this. It’s too much, with the tutors as well as paying for college. I’ll just find a job until…” He trails off and Sherlock deposits himself on the armrest of the chair.

“Until the baby comes.” Sherlock finishes his sentence and John gulps, nodding briskly.

“John, look at this from my point of view. You’re carrying my child. I _want_ to take care of you…to take care of both of you. I have a sizeable trust fun that will be more than adequate to take care of all of your and the child’s needs. It will be much easier for you to take a semester off of school than to take leave from work. I can even tutor you myself so you don’t fall too far behind.” Sherlock grasps his chin, forcing the omega to look up into his eyes. “Please, John. Let me do this for you.” His thumb sweeps along John’s lower lip, and the resulting sharp intake of breath from the smaller man makes Sherlock smile. He brushes his lips across John’s, snaking a hand to grip the slip soft blond hair and hold his head in place. 

John’s head tilts back, and Sherlock grins against his lips. He sweeps his tongue along John’s lower lip, and the omega opens obligingly. The kiss deepens, and John moans as Sherlock slides his hands underneath the soft old tee shirt and jumper that Sherlock had found in the back of his closet and brought to the hospital with him this morning. He runs his fingernails across John’s back lightly before gathering him up into his arms. 

Suddenly, there’s a light knock at the door, and Sherlock groans in frustration. 

“Woo hoo! Sorry to interrupt boys.” There’s an elderly lady in a purple dress standing in their doorway, and John assumes that it must be the infamous Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock slides away from him and John struggles to stand. 

“You just stay sitting dear. I’ll fix you a cuppa and I brought some of those lemon biscuits that Sherlock loves.” She bustles into the kitchen, setting down a large plate that is piled high with biscuits and she turns the electric kettle on before returning to the sitting room. 

“I’m Mrs. Hudson, dear. You must be John. Sherlock’s told me all about you.” She pats his shoulder comfortingly, and he instantly feels at ease. “Have you shown John his room, Sherlock?” She asks and the alpha shakes his head. 

John hoists himself up and hobbles after him. The hallway is dark and is wallpapered in the same black and white print as half of the lounge. There’s a door to the right that Sherlock pushes open, revealing the bathroom. It’s tiny, but large enough for a sink, a tub and a toilet. Straight ahead is another door, and this one Sherlock opens and actually steps through to the room beyond. 

A queen size bed takes up most of the room. It has a dark solid wood headboard, and it’s made immaculately with a dark green down comforter and light green sheets with matching shams and pillowcases. The carpet is beige and the walls match the sheets. A dark wardrobe is in a corner and Sherlock opens it, revealing rows of jeans, jumpers, button downs, and even one or two suits. 

“Is this your room, then?” John asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and eyeing the clothes. 

“No! It’s yours. I went out and bought you some clothes…if you don’t like them I can return them and we can find something else.” The alpha says quickly, but John smiles. 

“No, they’re lovely. But, I won’t be able to fit in them for very long…” He trails off, glancing at the taller man before quickly looking away. 

“It’s alright. We’ll just get you more.” Sherlock sits down next to him and wraps an arm around him. John leans in, burying his nose in the alpha’s neck, scenting him. He smells like oranges and musk, vanilla and formaldehyde. His eyes drift close, and the hand that is wrapped around his shoulders rubs his arm slightly. 

“I don’t know why I’m so tired. I feel like all I did was sleep for a month.” John yawns.  
“Your body is still healing.” Sherlock removes his arm and stands, striding across the room. He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a pair of boxers, pajama pants and a soft looking tee shirt. He hands them to John, who slides out of his clothes unashamedly. He quickly tugs on the clean jim jams, and Sherlock hands him a dark dressing gown, which he slides on. 

“I’m going to go work on an experiment in the kitchen. Why don’t you come into the lounge and put the telly on?” 

John nods and follows the taller man out into the main room. He collapses on the couch, tugging his dressing gown tighter around himself and switches on the telly. On the screen, a blue police box is spinning through a tunnel of stars and clouds, and his interest is immediately piqued. It isn’t long before he’s completely absorbed in the show. But soon, his eyes are drooping shut, and he dozes, listening to Sherlock puttering around in the kitchen and the gentle conversation on the screen. He doesn’t notice his new flatmate smiling at him fondly from time to time. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hours later, he awakes to a dark room. The television is still on, but the lights in the kitchen are out. The only light is coming from the screen and the streetlamps outside the window. The sound of London traffic filters in from outside, and for a moment, John is vaguely confused, unsure of where he is. 

His stomach gives a loud rumble and when he glances at the clock he realizes that he’s slept through dinner. He shuffles into the kitchen and opens up the refrigerator door. There’s a bowl of what looks like human fingers, a carton of milk with a date that reads two weeks ago and a moldy piece of fruit, which is completely indistinguishable. He opens up the cabinets to find that Sherlock has also commandeered this for storage. The only thing that could possibly be considered food is a box of PG Tips. 

His stomach gives another loud gurgle, and he hobbles up the stairs, thinking that perhaps Sherlock has retired to his own room, but the alpha isn’t there either. A quick glance in the room is all it takes for John to realize that this room has probably never been used. It’s immaculate except for a pile of books in one corner and the wardrobe is open. 

John returns to the lounge and sets himself in a soft recliner. He turns the telly up, hoping that whatever is on will make him forget the ache in his belly, but it isn’t long before it’s growling at him again. He stands and grabs his cane, taking the stairs down to 221A slowly. 

It takes all of his courage to knock on Mrs. Hudson’s door, but he does it. There’s no movement from inside and no light can be seen under the door. The woman either goes to bed ridiculously early or has gone out for the evening. With a sigh, he walks back upstairs. 

It’s outrageous really. He’s been hungrier than this before, but he’s also a little irritated. Even though the hospital food had been atrocious, it had still been a regular meal. He wanders into the bathroom and finds the paracetamol. He swallows two with a handful of water from the bathroom sink, hoping that the medicine will take the edge off his hunger pains. 

He flops back on the couch, intent on watching whatever is on the television. He’s bored in about fifteen minutes. He’s so used to being around people all the time, that the silence feels oppressive. He wants to go for a walk or shopping or do something, but everything he can think of involves leaving the flat. Sherlock hasn’t given him permission to leave, and even if he had, he wouldn’t be able to get back in. No key, no phone, and no money means that John is stuck exactly where he is. 

He flicks the telly off in frustration. He glances at the books that adorn Sherlock’s bookshelf and finds a fairly interesting book about genetics. Tucking it under his arm, he makes his way into his bedroom. John stretches out under the covers and begins to read. 

The next thing he knows, he’s waking from a light sleep. The book is open and laying across his chest. He closes it and glances at the clock. One a.m. He briefly wonders what it was that woke him, but he quickly understands. A pang of nausea pierces him, and he just barely makes it to the loo. 

He sits on the floor in front of the toilet, and if there was anything left in his stomach, it is quickly gone. He is left dry heaving, and he runs both of his hands down his neck and chest in an effort to soothe himself. It seems like a lifetime that he is sitting there. He doesn’t want to leave for fear that he’ll vomit in the lounge or somewhere else, but nothing is actually coming up, so he figures it doesn’t matter. He moves into the kitchen, filling up the electric kettle with water and dropping a musty tea bag into a coffee mug. He waits for the kettle to boil, and fills up the mug. 

The heady scent of tea fills his nostrils, and even though the nausea is still there, he sips it. He carries the tea carefully into the lounge and flips on the television again. There’s another episode of the same programme he was watching before on, so he watches that as he sips at his tea. When he finishes that cup, he makes another, and another. The brew isn’t doing much to abate his hunger, and he knows that in a few hours he’ll probably be throwing it up again, but right now the persistent hunger is all that matters. It’s almost a physical pain now and he realizes it’s been eighteen hours since he last ate anything. 

The sun rises as he fixes his fifth cup of tea and he vows to wait until at least seven before going down and seeing if Mrs. Hudson is in. He can feel all of the water sloshing around in his stomach, and as he takes another sip, he knows that it’s all going to come back up. He rushes back to the bathroom and makes it just in time. The water from the tea comes up and even out his nose. 

John curls up on the floor in front of the toilet with a whimper, running his hands over his belly. He wonders if the baby is feeling the hunger too, or if it’s just him. Perhaps the baby is getting all of the nutrients and he is left starving. Belatedly, he realizes that perhaps he shouldn’t have had so much caffeine. Panic is rising in him now and he’s shaking. Tears stream down his cheeks and he sobs breathlessly. He gasps for air, clenching his hands in his hair. 

He has never felt so alone. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elizabeth Hudson has been living under Sherlock Holmes for a little over a year. She has heard everything coming from that flat; gunshots, breaking glass, screaming, snarling. But this morning she wakes up to something she has never heard before-sobbing. 

In a flash she is up out of bed, knotting her dressing gown tightly at the waist and taking the stairs as fast as she can. She decides to see if the door is open instead of knocking, and is relieved when it opens. 

“Sherlock?” A timid voice calls through the breathless sobs, and she follows the sound into the bathroom. 

“No dear, it’s Mrs. Hudson. Is everything all right?” She knocks on the bathroom door and there’s a groan from inside. She pushes it open. 

John is sitting on the floor in front of the toilet. It’s obvious he’s just been ill. His nose is running and there’s a small spot of sick on the front of his tee shirt. He gives a little whimper, and before she knows it, she’s gathering the man into her arms. At first, he’s stiff, refusing to relax, but she rubs his back soothingly, and he eventually goes limp in her arms. He buries his nose in her shoulder, snuffling. 

“Tell me what’s wrong dear.” She says tenderly and he sniffs again, pulling away and wiping his nose on his sleeve. She is struck by how young he looks and he refuses to meet her gaze, so she repeats herself. 

“I was sick.” He says simply, but a quick glance at her eyes and he realizes that she’s not buying his explanation. 

“I…fell asleep on the couch last night while Sherlock was doing an experiment. When I woke up he was gone. He hasn’t been back since.” He says lamely, and Mrs. Hudson nods.

“Yes, he often disappears while he’s working on cases.” 

“I couldn’t find any food and I didn’t get permission to leave before he left.” John says in a small voice, and Mrs. Hudson stiffens. 

“Come on dear, let’s get you changed. You’ll come down to my flat and I’ll fix a proper fry up.” She grasps him by his arm and hauls him to his feet. He sways slightly on the spot and she has to grab his upper arms to make sure he stays upright. 

“Oh no…I couldn’t impose.” He says wearily. The poor boy looks as if he is about to faint, and Mrs. Hudson has to practically drag him into his room. She takes off the dressing gown and pulls off his tee shirt. He just lets her, and that is when she notices the bandage on his shoulder. It’s weeping slightly, and when she brushes her hand across the blonde’s forehead, she realizes that he’s running a temperature. Anxiety wells up, but she forces herself to remain calm. 

“John, dear, I’m going to go make a quick phone call and I’ll be right back. You stay right here.” She says and he nods lamely. 

She gets the wireless phone from her flat and quickly dials Sherlock’s number. No answer. Frustrated, she calls the one number that Sherlock told her to call in an absolute emergency.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Greg Lestrade is just walking into NSY when his mobile rings. It’s a number he doesn’t recognize, but he decides to answer anyway.

“DI Lestrade.” 

“Detective Inspector, this is Elizabeth Hudson, Sherlock’s landlady.” The voice on the other end sounds distinctly distraught, and at the mention of Sherlock’s name, Lestrade feels a sick jolt of worry.

“Yes, right. Hello Mrs. Hudson. How can I help you?” 

“You haven’t happened to see Sherlock in the last twenty-four hours have you?” She asks, and Lestrade sighs.

“No, I haven’t. Is everything alright?”

“I’m here with John and well…could you come over? I’m not sure I can handle this on my own…” She trails off and Lestrade sighs again, even though a part of him is preening. Of course she would need an alpha to help. 

“I’ll be there in twenty.” He hangs up before he can hear the sigh of relief on the other end. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Greg arrives at 221B, it’s to find the door to the upstairs flat wide open. There’s a soothing voice coming from the back bedroom, so he follows the sound. John is lying on the bed shirtless. His eyes are shiny with fever and he is shivering. He doesn’t even seem to notice when Greg enters the room, but Mrs. Hudson rushes to him gratefully.

“I woke up this morning to the sound of him sobbing in the loo. He says he hasn’t seen Sherlock since they arrived home yesterday and there’s no food in the house.” Mrs. Hudson says worriedly, and Greg frowns. The bandage on his shoulder is soaked with blood now, he guesses that a few stitches have been pulled. 

The blonde’s teeth are chattering now and he tries to sit up, glancing around the room. “Sherlock?” He asks blearily, and Greg approaches. 

It is obvious when John catches the scent of an alpha that he isn’t used to. His nostrils flare and he stiffens, moving away from him. His teeth clench and he begins panting. 

“Please, don’t.” He whimpers and Greg could kick himself. Of course he wouldn’t want an alpha whose scent he didn’t recognize in his room. The poor man had been beaten and raped by alphas for the last ten years for God’s sake. 

“Don’t worry Mrs. Hudson. I’ll get help.” He pulls his mobile out, retreating to the lounge. He presses 2, then send. The person on the other end picks up almost immediately.

“Mycroft Holmes.” 

It still amuses Greg that after two years of dating and a year of being bonded that Mycroft refuses to answer the phone normally even when he knows it’s his bonded calling. Amusement quickly fades when he remembers the predicament he’s in.

“Myc, we have a problem.”

“Yes?”

“I’m at 221B. Mrs. Hudson called me.” He tries to put this as delicately as possible. He knows that even though Sherlock and Mycroft profess to despise each other, Mycroft will defend his little brother until the bitter end. “John is horribly ill and we aren’t sure where Sherlock is. Could you send a doctor around, preferably a beta or an omega?” 

“He’ll be there in ten minutes.” Mycroft says simply and Greg sighs in relief. 

“Thank you, Myc.” 

“You’re welcome Gregory.” He says and hangs up. 

Greg walks back into the bedroom to find Mrs. Hudson tucking the omega in. John is still shivering, and the DI approaches.

“John, it’s me, DI Lestrade…do you remember me?” He asks gently and John lifts his head to give a quick nod. 

“There’s a doctor coming to take care of you and we’re going to try and find Sherlock. Is there anything I can get you?” He inquires.

“The Doctor? Sherlock?” John asks confused and Greg shakes his head. 

“No, a medical doctor. And yes, we’re going to find Sherlock for you.” 

John nods, clearly not understanding what is going on and falls back onto his pillows. 

“Lizzie, stop stealing Jonah’s cereal.” John admonishes no one and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade exchange looks. “I told you Scarlet, you have to eat with everyone else.” 

There’s a soft knock on the door and a middle-aged beta enters the room. Greg didn’t know that there were still doctors who made house calls, but this man looks like the typical GP-fairly tall with salt and pepper hair and a matching mustache. He immediately jumps into action, setting up an IV stand. In moments, John is attached to a bag of fluid and the doctor is attaching a smaller bag of antibiotics to the IV line. 

“When was the last time his bandage was changed?” He nods to the slightly bloody bandage that is attached to John’s chest and Mrs. Hudson and Greg look at each other. 

“Uh…yesterday? When he left the hospital?” Greg shrugs and the doctor sighs. 

“These are supposed to be changed twice a day and antibiotic cream put on it.” The doctor gives a put upon sigh. “Who is responsible for him?”

“He’s not here.”

The doctor sighs again and shakes his head. “Help me prop him up.” He nods to Lestrade and they force John to lean forward so he can change the bandage on his back. The omega is still shivering, his teeth chattering loudly. He groans as the adhesive is pulled away from his skin and Greg gags slightly at the sight and the smell. The stitches are oozing yellowish fluid and blood and the doctor shakes his head again. Just as he is spraying some wound cleaner on it, the door flies open.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sherlock leaves St.Bart’s lab, a smile playing across his lips. He couldn’t wait to get home and see John. He had spent the first half of the night searching for John’s parents. Even if he didn’t want to find them, the knowledge would come in handy one day. He had ended up at St. Bart’s, checking up on several experiments he had going. He’d finally gotten frustrated by Molly’s incessant hovering and decided to head home. He had a few errands to run and he was hoping that John would join him. 

He pulls his mobile out. Twenty-three missed calls from Mycroft. He snorts, tucking it back into his coat pocket, gazing out at the London traffic. In less than ten minutes, the cab arrives at 221B and he jumps out, tossing a few bills at the driver and bounding up to the door. He takes the stairs two at a time and it surprised to find the door standing wide open. His brow furrows in worry. There are soft voices coming from John’s bedroom and he strides toward the room purposefully. It’s slightly ajar. Mrs. Hudson is standing off to the side, her brow furrowed in worry. Greg and an unknown beta are forcing John forward and the mystery man is touching John’s back and he snarls, pushing the door open. It hits the wall with a bang and everyone except John looks up at him.

“What the fuck is going on here?” He growls, striding toward the bed. 

“Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson approaches him and tries to hold him back, but he snarls again and she flinches. “Let the doctor do his work.” 

“Mrs. Hudson, will you help the doctor?” Greg asks gently. “I’ll explain things to Sherlock out in the lounge.” 

The elderly woman nods and takes the DI’s place. He strides over to the consulting detective, dragging him out into the main room. He closes the bedroom door behind him so that the doctor won’t be disturbed. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Greg roars, and Sherlock glares at him indignantly. 

“I was at St. Bart’s trying to find John’s parents and, something that you seem to have given up on. While I was there I checked up on some experiments.” 

“God dammit, Sherlock!” Greg shouts. “You’ve been gone for almost twenty four hours! John has been home alone for the entire time, no food, no way of contacting anyone, suffering from morning sickness, and where the fuck were you? Running experiments at St. Bart’s. He’s not some gold fish that you can feed once a day and then forget about, Sherlock. He’s a human being and he’s pregnant with your child. Now, thanks to you, John will probably have to be readmitted into the hospital due to infection. You forgot about changing his bandages, didn’t you?” He scoffs and Sherlock pales. The consulting detective sags, collapsing onto the couch. He runs a shaky hand over his face. 

“You have to do better, Sherlock. You have to be better for him.” Greg sighs, sitting down next to him. 

“I know.” He whispers and Greg pats his shoulder sympathetically. 

“Just don’t let it happen again. Now you know better.” He stands, straightening his suit jacket. “Get in there and check on him. He was asking for you.” 

Sherlock nods and strides toward the bedroom, opening the door and shutting it softly behind him.


	5. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes an important decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are dear friends. This is a short one, but I'm also almost done with chapter six and you will have it probably by Wednesday, but most definitely by Thursday. 
> 
> Isn't spring break great? 
> 
> On a separate note, your comments keep me going when I'm feeling overwhelmed with life, so keep them up. Love you all! :)
> 
> Oh, also-smut alert! You've been warned.

John wakes slowly, drifting toward consciousness. He’s incredibly warm, and as he opens his eyes, he notices that he’s buried under at least four comforters. It’s dim in the room, the only light is the gentle glow from the streetlamps that filters in through the curtains. The flat is nearly silent, and panic begins to rise inside of him. The last thing he remembers is curling up on the bathroom floor, the overwhelming hunger overtaking him. He struggles to sit up, pushing the blankets to the floor.

A clear plastic tube is attached to the back of his hand, leading to a bag of fluid. “Sherlock?” He calls out, standing at the side of the bed. He sways slightly and wonders how he can go find Sherlock without detaching himself from the IV. The door flies open and Sherlock rushes in. 

“John! What are you doing up? Sit, sit.” He forces John to sit on the side of the bed and then sets himself down next to the omega. 

“Sherlock? What happened?” He asks, confused. 

The alpha looks discomfited and is silent for several long moments. John is just about to ask again when he opens his mouth.

“It seems I owe you an apology, John.” He refuses to meet John’s eyes at first, but when John rests a hand on Sherlock’s knee, he finally swivels his head to look him in the eye.

“Sherlock, you don’t need to apologize…” He starts, but Sherlock silences him with an icy glare. 

“I do, John. I forgot about you. It was inexcusable. And for that I am incredibly sorry.” He wraps an arm across John’s shoulder, and the omega snuggles in. 

“It’s alright. I’m sorry for being a burden.” He whispers, and Sherlock stiffens.

“Never say that, John. You are not a burden. It’s my fault, not yours.” He says stiffly, and John shrugs. Sherlock decides to ignore it for the time being. 

“Do you want something to eat? Are you feeling better?” He asks, and John nods. “How’s the nausea?”

“Fine. Better.” John bobs his head and Sherlock smiles.

“Good. The doctor gave you some anti-nausea medication while you were out.” Sherlock stands, straightening his suit. 

“How long was I out for?” John inquires.

“Two days. You have an infection. You obviously needed the rest. I’ll fix you breakfast and see if the doctor can come and unhook you from the IV.” Sherlock says before disappearing into the lounge. 

John settles himself back under one of the comforters, propping himself up slightly. He notices that Sherlock put a brand new telly in the bedroom and a stack of DVDs is next to it. There’s also a rolling table in the room like he had in the hospital, and John sighs. Sherlock has spent a ridiculous amount of money on him and it makes him feel uneasy. He’s never had anyone spend money on him and it pains him a little to accept such extravagant gifts. 

In no time, the doctor comes to unhook him from the IV and takes his blood pressure and takes a phial of blood. In no time he is free from tubes and the doctor is gathering up his stuff, wishing John good luck and disappearing out the door. 

He stands, perusing the DVDs. They’re all action movies, and John is a little surprised that Sherlock owns these. He doesn’t really seem the type to watch action movies. One catches his eye. It features a man in a tuxedo, the tie undone and holding a gun. There’s a silver car behind him. He puts it in and settles back in bed. Just as the opening scene starts, Sherlock comes in bearing a tray. He puts the tray on the rolling table and pushes it over to the bed so the table is across his knees. 

Sherlock has made a traditional English breakfast; fried eggs, beans, toast, tomatoes, and sausage. There’s also tea and orange juice on the tray, and suddenly-John is ravenous. He digs in and Sherlock lays next to him, opening a science journal that he seems to have pulled out of thin air. 

He finishes his breakfast in complete silence except for the sound of gunfire and dialogue coming from the television. Sherlock is completely engrossed in the magazine. After he stuffs himself as much as he can, he pushes the table away from the bed and snuggles under Sherlock’s arm, continuing to watch the movie. It’s exciting, and he’s never seen anything like it. Car chases, guns, pretty women…it’s all so exhilarating. He feels eyes on him, and a quick glance up confirms that Sherlock is no longer reading the magazine, but instead is watching him. A small smile is playing across the alpha’s face, and John smiles back. 

“John…there’s something we need to discuss.” He starts and John’s brow furrows. 

“Like what?”

Sherlock clears his throat uncomfortably. “Well, when I left you here, I was at St. Bart’s doing some research, and, well….I found your parents.” 

John stiffens. “Sherlock…”

“I know you said you didn’t want to find them, but I just thought that, if you wanted to find them, we’d know. It’s ok if you don’t want to, I just want you to know that if you ever decide to change your mind, we can find them.” He’s babbling and he knows it, but John loosens up, giving him a small smile. 

“Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

Sherlock sighs in relief, pulling the omega closer to him. 

“Tomorrow if you feel well enough we’ll run some errands.” Sherlock states, and John looks up at him in confusion.

“What errands do we need to run?” 

“I’d like to set you up with a check card under my account as well as show you how to get to the Tesco down the street. Mrs. Hudson told me what you said about needing my permission to leave the flat. You don’t need my permission to go anywhere, John. While I would prefer to know where you are for safety’s sake, you don’t need to ask for my blessing to leave. Oh, and we’ll need to get you a mobile.” He says offhandedly and John tenses again. 

“Oh what is it?” Sherlock snaps. He’s getting tired of John getting anxious every time he mentions something he doesn’t like. He’d much rather John yell at him. 

“You shouldn’t spend so much money on me. I don’t need any of those things.” John says, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Yes, you do.” He snaps again and John falls silent, pulling away from him slightly. 

Sherlock heaves a sigh and tugs him closer. “I’m sorry, John. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. But you do need all of those things. If we are to get you back into the real world, you need all of those things. As soon as you feel up to it the tutor will come to help you with your studies, if you still want to take your A-levels.” He says offhandedly, and John smiles up at him. 

For a second, Sherlock’s breath is stolen away from him. John’s smile is beatific. He’s sure he’s never seen anything so lovely. It makes him look at least five years younger. It makes him smile as well, and he feels the overwhelming urge to kiss the other man, so he does. 

The kiss quickly turns heated and the omega moans against his lips. He slides a hand across John’s bare chest, scratching lightly at a dusky pink nipple. The blonde’s head tilts back as a gasp is torn from his throat. Sherlock takes this opportunity to brush his lips against the exposed line of throat, gently nibbling and sucking on his Adam’s apple. He moves down the neck to his chest, capturing a nipple between his lips and worrying it slightly between his teeth. John groans and runs his hands through the riot of black curls on Sherlock’s head. 

Sherlock runs his hands down John’s sides before running his hands through the soft blonde hair that disappears into his pajama bottoms. He palms John’s hardness through the thin cotton and John’s breath catches in his throat. He glances up at John’s face and is rewarded by the sight of an incredibly aroused omega. There’s a flush high in his cheeks and slowly creeping its way down his neck and chest. His pupils are so dilated that the iris is just a thin strip of blue around the black of the iris. He gently tugs down the cotton pajamas, exposing John’s larger than average omega cock. 

John hisses as Sherlock laps at the tip, and just as he’s about to completely engulf the head of John’s cock, he feels John’s hands tug on his hair, and he looks up.

“Sherlock, you don’t….” John starts. The flush of arousal has changed to an embarrassed blush. Anger begins to build in Sherlock’s chest. 

“John, has no one ever done this for you before?” He asks and John shakes his head. 

“Well, I’m going to.” Sherlock says firmly. “So just lay back.” With this, he completely swallows John’s cock and hums around the weight of the cock on his tongue. 

John can’t believe what is happening. He’s done this to alphas a countless number of times, but has never had it done to him. Sherlock’s tongue is swirling around the tip of his penis, laving at the leaking tip with the flat of his tongue. He works the foreskin back with his tongue, completely exposing the glans. It’s over embarrassingly quickly. In less than a minute he is spurting across Sherlock’s tongue and down his throat. 

Licking his lips, Sherlock crawls back up, pressing his chest against John’s. The omega’s eyes are closed and he is gasping for breath. Sherlock runs his hands through John’s hair, tugging at the strands. As soon as his breath is caught, John’s eyes fly open. He quickly scrambles to take off Sherlock’s clothes, but the alpha stops him. 

“John.” His voice is firm and makes John stop. His hands are fisted in Sherlock’s shirt, and he glances up, catching Sherlock’s eye. 

“I’ll return the favor,” John says nervously, but Sherlock shakes his head. 

“No.” 

“What?” John squeaks and the alpha smiles a little. 

“You don’t want me to reciprocate?” John asks, confused and a little hurt as the other man shakes his head. 

“You misunderstand me. I do want you to reciprocate.” Sherlock practically purrs, and John swallows nervously, tugging on the shirt that is clenched in his fists. 

Sherlock gently forces John to release his shirt. “I just don’t want you to do it if you aren’t comfortable with it. I don’t want you to feel as if you have to simply because you feel you have to.” 

A strange feeling is welling up inside John. Even though Sherlock has treated him with respect and even love, a piece of him has assumed that Sherlock would only continue to treat him like this as long as he allowed the alpha to have his way with him. He also assumed that he would have to do housework, but it seems as if Sherlock doesn’t require any housework to be done. It’s strange, really. 

He allows his hand to trail down Sherlock’s chest before slipping his hand inside the waistband of his trousers. He’s already hard and he gently pulls on his cock. The alpha groans, allowing his head to fall back against the pillow, panting. He rubs his thumb across the damp slit before pumping his fist. 

Soon, Sherlock’s hips are bucking up erratically and John is rubbing his thumb under the sensitive head. 

“John!” Sherlock shouts, his hips twitching. He looks down at John’s hand disappearing into his waistband, and it’s this sight more than anything that sends him over the edge. He comes with a gasp and John’s hand stills. His seed seeps between John’s fingers and he pulls his hand away. He wipes it on his pajama pants, and Sherlock makes a tsking noise. 

The alpha stands, tugging off his clothes. He makes quick work of his clothes, replacing his trousers and soiled boxers with a pair of silky looking pajama pants and a plain grey tee shirt. He reaches into a drawer, pulling a clean pair of pajamas out for John as well. 

When they’re both clean, Sherlock ducks out of the room, returning shortly with a plastic tub.

He prods John to sit forward and gently peels off the bandage on his back. The wound has stopped weeping but it still looks red with infection. He spreads cream over it before covering it back up with a clean bandage. He repeats the action with the wound on the front, and finally pushes John to lay back. 

“Shall I turn on the telly?” Sherlock asks, and John nods. He flips on the tv and stands.

“I’m going to be in the kitchen working on an experiment. Shout if you need me.” He says, glaring at the television in disdain. 

John nods before burrowing under the covers, quickly becoming engrossed in the show. 

Sherlock gives a little smile before disappearing into the lounge. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two days later finds John and Sherlock walking arm and arm down Marylebone Road. John has a shiny new mobile in his pocket. He keeps a hand curled around it in his pocket, paranoid that it’ll be stolen. He’s never owned something this expensive. When Sherlock had handed over several hundred pounds for a piece of metal and plastic, John had almost cried. 

He _had_ cried when they had gone to the bank to get his check card and they had refused to issue him a card without a birth certificate or National Insurance number. In an effort to cheer him, Sherlock had taken him to the Tate and then out to lunch. Now, they were on the way back to Baker Street. 

Sherlock gestures him over to an ATM and shows him how to insert the card and punch in the password. The alpha keys in a five and two zeros, which the ATM spits out after a moment of mechanical whirring. He reaches into John’s back pocket for the new wallet that he had tucked there this morning and places the £500 in his wallet. 

When they arrive back at Baker Street, John slumps into what has become his armchair and scrubs his face with his hand. He picks up the paper, but his mind is completely preoccupied. It had been inordinately embarrassing at the bank when they had refused him. Even though Sherlock had tried to explain their situation to the bank manager, it had been futile. The manager had looked at him with pity, and he wanted to sink into the floor. He’d almost left, but figured he owed it to Sherlock to sit there and at least try. 

He knows that it is cruel to his parents to not contact them, but it also seemed kinder in a way. After ten years they probably assumed he was dead, and would it really make them happier to see him again? But now it looked as if he had no choice if he wanted his birth certificate. What was his mother doing right now? Was she planning Harry’s bonding ceremony? Was she fixing dinner for his father who was in his recliner with a beer? 

Michael and Anna Watson had been the typical suburban couple. His father, a beta, had somehow snagged an omega bondmate. Desperate for children, they had started as soon as the bond had taken. When Harry was born, his father had been ecstatic. Everyone wanted an alpha, and a female alpha was the rarest of the rare. She was his father’s golden child. John always imagined that his father had been disappointed the day he was born.

It wasn’t that Michael Watson didn’t love his son. He did, but it was a point of pride for every beta to have sired an alpha. It didn’t matter that as a male omega, John was also rare. His father had wanted alphas and betas, and having sired an omega was a bone of contention with his father. It didn’t help that his mother had had complications with the birth, rendering her incapable of carrying any more children beyond John. Most families would have been happy to have a male omega and a female alpha. Most parents ended up with betas anyway, so any kind of alpha or omega was a treat. 

As a child, he had longed for a normal father/son relationship. He would desperately try to sneak into the living to watch football games with Harry and his dad, but whenever his father found him, he would be banished to the kitchen with his mother. It had caused a lot of bitterness between him and Harry, even as children. He supposed it was easier without him there. 

“John. Are you alright?” Sherlock appears at his side and interrupts his thought process. 

He gives a brief shake of his head before looking up at the alpha. “I think I should contact my parents.”


	6. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is reunited with family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken me so long. I know I promised Wednesday, but it's been a crazy week. Chapter 7 isn't written yet, so look for it sometime next week. Thank you all for your wonderful comments. Keep them up! :)
> 
> Oh and fluff alert!

John is sitting next to Sherlock in a small coffee shop just outside of London. As soon as John had made his decision, the alpha had jumped into action. He had pulled a file out of a drawer in his desk, and it provided John with all the information he needed. 

His father had been killed in a drunk driving accident two years after John had disappeared, and his mother had relocated to a small house in Surrey. Harry was living and working in London. At the age of twenty she had bonded with a beta woman and they were now in the process of having their bond dissolved. 

Now, here he is sitting in this coffee shop in Surrey and his stomach is roiling. Not only is he still suffering from morning sickness, but the nerves are eating away at him. 

Lestrade had gone to his mother’s house soon after he made his decision to inform her that he had been found. The DI refused to discuss what had happened after, and John is a little anxious about seeing her. Will she yell at him for not returning home right away? Will she insist that he return? And what about Harry? Will she be happy to see him, or will she wish he hadn’t bothered to contact them? 

“John. Relax. Take a sip of your tea.” Sherlock places a hand on his knee and he sips at his herbal tea, wincing at the flavor. He had wanted to get a nice strong cup of Earl Grey, but Sherlock had insisted that he avoid the caffeine.

“Sherlock, I think I’m going to throw up.” He whispers, and Sherlock’s brow furrows in sympathy. 

“If you have to go now. I don’t want you to be vomiting in the loo when your mother shows up,” the alpha says and John winces. 

The bell on the door tinkles as it opens, and both John and Sherlock’s heads whip around to look at the people coming through the doorway. 

John’s heart stops in his chest. His mother has aged, but not as much as he expected. He does the math in his head, and she must be almost fifty by now. She has his sandy blond hair and it’s cut into a stylish bob. She’s wearing a blue cashmere jumper and worn jeans, and she’s anxiously scanning the people in the coffee house. Behind her is Harry. Her hair had always been a replica of their father’s, a dark auburn, and it’s long-pulled up into a high ponytail. She’s wearing a posh looking skirt suit, and he remembers that the file said she was a barrister now. 

Next to him, Sherlock pokes him, and he stands. His mother’s eyes are drawn to the slight movement, and they make eye contact. 

That is all it takes. 

It’s as if he’s a child again. It reminds him of the day that his father forgot to pick him up from school and his mum came to get him at five, just in time for dinner. 

She is running towards him and he gravitates toward her. They are almost the same height now. He isn’t sure what he was expecting, maybe for her to still tower over him as she had when he was a child. She stops in front of him, and he sees that she’s crying. It isn’t until she reaches up to touch his cheek that he notices that he is crying too. 

“Johnny,” she whispers, and he launches himself into her arms. He has to stoop a bit to bury his face in her neck, and she wraps her arms around him, allowing him to lightly scent her. She still smells the same-like vanilla, cinnamon, her favorite brand of perfume and a light cigarette smell. Her fingers weave through his hair and she presses a light kiss against his temple. For a moment, it’s just the two of them. Everyone else in the world has ceased to exist except John Watson and his mother. 

“Oh, John. My John. My baby.” She whispers and he straightens. She nods toward his neck and he dips his head in assent. Her nose brushes against his neck lightly, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders as she scents him. She stiffens slightly and pulls away, searching his face. Whatever she’s looking for, she seems to find it and gives a sharp nod. 

Someone clears their throat behind his mother, and he snarls slightly before realizing that it’s Harry. He smiles sheepishly at her, and she grins, reaching for him. She embraces him in a way she never would have when they were children. He pulls away and notices that his mother has kept a hand on his forearm the entire time, as if she thinks he’ll run away if she lets him go. 

He lowers himself next to Sherlock and his mum and Harry sit across from them. Both women are glaring daggers at the alpha, and he feels his hackles rise. He clears his throat and gestures to Sherlock. 

“Mum, this is Sherlock Holmes, my….” He trails off, unsure how to describe the enigma that is the world’s only consulting detective. 

“Flatmate.” Sherlock inserts, holding a hand out to his mother, which she reluctantly takes. 

“Flatmate. Right.” She says derisively. John flinches at her tone and she smiles at him apologetically. “Sorry, it’s just a lot to take in.” 

“I completely understand, Mrs. Watson.” Sherlock says charmingly and she loosens up a little. 

“I thought I would never see you again.” She says softly, and Harriet grasps their mother’s arm in comfort. 

“I know.” He whispers. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again either.” 

“Did DI Lestrade explain everything to you?” Sherlock asks, and this time it’s Harriet who nods. 

“He explained that Johnny was kidnapped and kept as a slave, but he didn’t explain how you come into this, Mr. Holmes.” She counters suspiciously. 

“Ah. Yes, well, I work with Scotland Yard on occasion, and I was investigating a murder of one of John’s friends. I was able to get in under the guise that I was purchasing an omega’s heat. I spent John’s heat with him and vowed to get him out of there. It took about a month, and as I’m sure Lestrade told he, he was injured in the process.” He finishes and glances at the omega next to him. John is staring intently at the table, his fingers spinning the cup collar around his disposable cup. Anna Watson is looking at her son with undisguised sympathy and Harriet looks disgusted. 

“Johnny. Look at me.” His mother grasps his hand and he looks up at her guiltily. “It’s all fine, alright? You’re back now.” 

John shakes his head. “That’s the thing, though. I’m not. I’m not a kid anymore, Mum, as much as I wish I was. I’m going to have a kid of my own soon.” 

Harriet looks affronted, but Anna just nods. “I thought that was what I smelt.” She says simply. 

“I hope this doesn’t mean we’ll never see each other.” She whispers painfully. “ I mean, I understand if that’s what you want, but I would like to be a part of your life.” Tears are welling up in her eyes. “I just don’t think I can say goodbye again.” 

“I didn’t mean that, Mum!” He exclaims, reaching for her. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do this on my own, even with Sherlock’s help.” He smiles slyly at Sherlock who nods in agreement. 

“Maybe you and your mother should go shopping for baby items.” Sherlock interjects, and his mother’s face lights up. 

“Oh, could we?” She claps her hands in delight and John can’t help but laugh. 

“Sure, Mum. Maybe we could do lunch once a week?” He asks timidly, and she smiles. 

“Of course.” She reaches for a slip of paper and a pen out of her purse and jots something down. “Here’s my mobile number. Call me anytime, day or night.” 

She reluctantly stands, and John can feel panic rising inside of him. He doesn’t want her to go. Maybe he should have agreed to go home with her and stay for a few days. 

“Oh, I meant to give this to you.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a brown ball of fur. John’s heart skips a beat. 

“Buttons!” He reaches for it and suddenly feels foolish. It’s stupid for a grown man to get this excited for a stuffed rabbit, but he quickly discovers that he doesn’t care. He grabs for the rabbit and hugs it to his chest. Even before he was taken, he hadn’t played with Buttons in years. As a ten year old, it had been childish to play with a stuffed rabbit, but he had still kept it next to him in bed every night. It was the main thing he missed besides his family. It was the first toy he had ever had. It had been given to him as an infant in the hospital. 

His mother’s eyes fill with tears. “After you disappeared…I would often go into your room and hold him. I used to wish that you had carried him with you, like if you had Buttons with you, you would be safe. It’s stupid, I know.”

John holds the animal to his chest, tears seeping out of the corners of his eyes. He feels nauseous, and all of a sudden, he can’t sit there anymore. Still holding the stuffed rabbit, he pushes his chair back, bolting for the loo. He’s lucky that it’s a one person toilet, not one with multiple stalls. He slams the door behind him and flips the lock before kneeling in front of the toilet and vomiting. 

It takes less than five minutes for there to be a light knock on the door, and John groans. He knows Sherlock means well, but sometimes he just wants to be alone. 

“Sweetie, can you let me in please?” The voice at the door says, and it’s with a jolt that John realizes it isn’t Sherlock, but his mother. He stands and unlocks the door. She enters, locking the door behind her and John sinks back down to the floor in front of the toilet. She kneels next to him, rubbing his back comfortingly as he heaves again. 

When he finishes, she hands him a bottle of water from her purse and he swishes a mouthful in his mouth. She pulls her son to her, resting her chin on the crown of his head. He feels overcome with sadness. He doesn’t want her to leave, but he doesn’t want to go back to his old life either. He begins to sniffle, and she pulls away, brushing his sandy blond hair away from his face. 

“What’s wrong, honey?” 

He shakes his head and she sighs. “You’ve been through a lot, I know. What can I do?”

John chews on his bottom lip fretfully and she smiles gently. 

“I don’t want to be a bother to you…” He starts, but she holds up a hand to stop him. 

“You could NEVER be a bother to me. Never.” She presses her lips to his forehead and he sighs in relief. “Now tell me, what can I do?” 

“Could you come stay with me for a day or so?” He asks tentatively, not meeting her eyes. “If you can’t, that’s fine. You have a life of your own, I know. I’m sure you’re busy, so it’s ok to say no…” He trails off, and when she still hasn’t made any noise, he looks up at her. Her face is lit up as if he’s just told her that Christmas has come early. 

“Do you really want me to?” She whispers and he nods vigorously. “Then of course I’ll come. I’ll need to go home and pack, but I could join you and Sherlock for dinner tonight…” 

John grins up at her and she hugs him again, holding him tightly. He only tugs away from her to heave again into the toilet. 

When he’s done, she makes him rinse his mouth out again with water, and together they walk out into the coffee shop. 

Sherlock and Harry are whispering to each other across the table, but they stop when the two omegas return to the table. Harriet has a thunderous look on her face, and Sherlock looks pleased with himself. 

“Well, it’s been decided.” Anna says, sitting back down in her chair. “That is, if Sherlock here approves.” 

John plops down next to his alpha. “My mum is going to stay with us for a day or two…if that’s alright with you, that is.” He finishes nervously, but Sherlock just grins at him.

“Of course, John. She can take my room upstairs and I’ll take the couch.” 

“If you decide to sleep at all, that is.” He says playfully, nudging his shoulder against the alpha who grins. 

“Mum, are you sure…” Harry starts, giving Sherlock a wary look. 

“Of course I’m sure, Harriet.” She stops her and John gives her a small smile, but not before catching the murderous glare that Harry shoots him. 

“Shall we meet at Angelo’s off of Northumberland Street at say, seven?” Sherlock proposes, and his mum nods. 

“That sounds splendid. I’ll just have to pack up my things and I’ll meet you there,” she says pleasantly. “Will you be joining us, Harriet?” 

Harry sniffs loudly and shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I’m meeting Clara tonight.” 

“Ah yes. How is that going, by the way?” His mum asks and Harry shakes her head again. 

“Not well. She’s still insisting that we not have the bond dissolved, but really, it’s better for her. This way she can find an alpha who can actually give her what she needs.” It’s said very sadly, and John’s heart hurts for his sister. 

“I’m so sorry, Harry.” He reaches for her, and she actually smiles at him. She has always had mood swings, but they have never been this abrupt. She reaches back and squeezes his hand. 

“It’s quite alright, Johnny. I’m just glad you’re back,” she says sincerely. She releases his hand, but it is quickly covered by Sherlock’s. He looks at the alpha who is gazing at his sister with his eyes narrowed. Harriet is seemingly oblivious. 

“Well, we better get back to the flat and get it ready if you’re going to stay,” Sherlock says with a laugh and John nods thinking about the mess of experiments in the kitchen that should be put away. 

“Yes and I better go back.” Anna is obviously making a list in her head of everything she needs to bring with her to 221B. She grabs her purse off the floor next to her and stands, as does Harriet. John and Sherlock stand with them, and both his mother and Harriet hug him before ducking out of the shop. 

John watches them go with a lighter heart than he had when they walked in. It hadn’t been as awkward as he was expecting.

“Well, John? Shall we head home?” Sherlock asks and John nods. 

They step out onto the street and Sherlock hails a cab. As they slide into the back of the cab, Sherlock wraps an arm around him and he sinks into the comfort that the alpha is providing. It’s not that he particularly needs it, but he’s quickly becoming used to these little public displays of affection, and even enjoying them. 

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asks. John thinks about it for a moment. Is he alright? 

“I think I am,” he says carefully. 

“Good.” Sherlock grins and gives the address to the cabbie. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They arrive back at Baker Street and John can’t believe how tired he is. They still have about four hours until they are to meet his mother at Angelo’s, and he wonders if he has time to take a nap and still help Sherlock clean. 

“We should probably change your bandages before we do anything else,” Sherlock suggests. 

“Right.” They move with the practiced ease of something that has been done on a regular basis. John perches on the edge of the bed as Sherlock changes both sets of bandages. The alpha hums his approval at the way the wounds are healing. When it is done, John nestles in next to Sherlock, nuzzling his neck lightly. 

“Thank you.” The words are whispered into the warm skin of Sherlock’s neck and he barely catches them. He brings a hand up to cradle John’s head. He tugs John’s head back and places a chaste kiss on the omega’s lips. 

“You’re welcome, John.” 

John sighs, and the breath is warm against Sherlock’s cheek. They sit in silence for a long moment, until Sherlock clasps John’s knee and squeezes.

“If you need to lie down, go ahead. But I should probably start cleaning and getting the upstairs room ready.” He says with a sad smile. John shakes his head. 

“No, I’ll help.” He stands, groaning. 

They move out into the kitchen and Sherlock pulls out some cleaning supplies from under the sink. John gives a little giggle. The day before he and Sherlock had gone shopping and gotten everything a regular household needs, which included food, cleaning supplies and a hoover. 

“Sherlock, if you want to go sit and work I can do this,” John says, gesturing to the beakers on the counter. As he gestures, his hand hits a large beaker with some sort of sludge in it. Sherlock seems to see the whole thing in slow motion, and tries to catch it, but it slips through his fingers. It upends over the floor and breaks with a smash. 

“Dammit!” He exclaims reaching for a dustpan and a brush. He’s so absorbed in making sure the glass gets up before John, who is barefoot, can cut his foot on a piece that he doesn’t notice that the omega has moved into the corner of the kitchen. He crouches down to sweep up the glass and happens to glance up to see what John is doing. 

He drops the dustpan at the sight that meets him. John is crouched in a corner of the kitchen, his arms up over his head and he is trembling. 

“John! Are you alright?” He steps over the broken glass and crouches down next to him and rests a hand on John’s shoulder. He flinches at his touch, peeking up at him between his arms. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new one. Just…please don’t…” He can’t get the last part of the sentence out he’s shaking so hard. 

“John, I am not going to hit you. Not now, not ever.” He gently scoops the younger man up and perches him on a chair as far away from the glass as possible. He moves to finish sweeping, but John holds him there, refusing to let release his arms from their hold around Sherlock’s neck. 

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out and Sherlock shakes his head. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” 

“No, not for that. I should know by now that you aren’t going to…” He takes a deep breath. “At that…place, we were regularly beaten. If we broke anything, it didn’t matter if it was an accident or not. I guess it’s just…an automatic response.” 

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. We’ll get through this…together. I’m going to take care of you, alright? I am never going to hit you, ever. This is a partnership, not a dictatorship.” He grins and John gives a shaky laugh. 

“Yes, alright.” He nods and stands. “Shall I…” He gestures timidly to the kitchen, but Sherlock shakes his head. 

“No, why don’t you go get the room upstairs ready? It’s pretty clean, all you’ll need to do is change the sheets and hoover. Then you can lay down for a bit and take a shower. I’ll wake you around six-thirty.” He says, running a hand over John’s back. 

The omega bobs his head in agreement before disappearing into the lounge.

As soon as he is gone, Sherlock runs a shaky hand across his face. Christ, if Witte weren’t already dead he would find him and kill him himself. How could anyone do that to another human being? He wishes he could make everything better for John, but he doesn’t seem to be doing much good. Perhaps it’s time to make John an appointment with a therapist as well as an omegalogist. He’s about to pull out his phone and ask Mycroft to send him some names of therapists and omegalogists when his phone pings. 

_Will have Anthea drop off names of therapists and omegalogists tomorrow as well as background checks. –MH_

Sherlock growls, looking around the kitchen for hidden cameras. 

_Fuck off, Mycroft!-SH_

_Come now, Sherlock. It’s for your own safety.-MH_

Safety his arse. He shakes his head and files the information away for a later date. He’ll have to take a day and find the cameras. But right now it’s the least of his problems. He refocuses himself to the task at hand, picking up the dustpan and brush to sweep up the glass. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John steps out of the shower, the steam enveloping him in a comforting warmth. Water runs in rivulets down his back and legs. He wraps himself in a fluffy towel, using another to dry his hair. 

He tries to forget about the incident in the kitchen, but it keeps playing over and over in his head. He hadn’t meant to respond that way, but as soon as the glass fell and Sherlock shouted, he had reacted instinctively. He stared at himself in the mirror, baffled by the view the mirror provided. He looked…happy, almost. Should he be happy? He was free of Clarke and that place forever, he had an alpha to take care of him and it seemed as if all his dreams were coming true. But, he couldn’t keep reacting to Sherlock as he would’ve to Clarke. It wasn’t fair to him, and it wasn’t fair to himself. He needed to get on with his life. Steeling his resolve, he wrapped the towel around his waist and ventured out into the kitchen. 

Sherlock was stretched out on the couch, his fingers steepled under his chin. The flat was spotless. There was no way Sherlock could have done all this by himself. He lifted Sherlock’s bare feet up and sat himself down on the couch, allowing the alpha’s feet to rest in his lap. He digs his thumbs into the arches, and Sherlock hisses in approval. 

“So you got Mrs. H to help, huh?” John teases playfully and Sherlock grins sheepishly. 

“She offered. It would have been rude to refuse.” He smiles and sits up, tugging the omega closer to him. He breathes in the scent that is purely John, even more intense after his shower. His hair is still damp, and he brushes it out of his face. 

“If you say so.” They sit in silence for a long minute until John reluctantly pulls away. “What should I wear, do you think?” 

“Hmm. Let’s see.” Sherlock stands and wanders into John’s bedroom and John follows. 

After rifling through his closet, Sherlock produces a pair of dark blue jeans, a black button down and a sapphire colored jumper. John quickly gets dressed as Sherlock disappears into the lounge once again. When he reappears, he is wearing a different shirt, but the same suit. 

“Shall we?” He offers his arm to John, who grins and loops his own through the proffered arm. 

“We shall.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They arrive a little before seven and his mother arrives a little after. They have a quiet dinner before heading back to Baker Street. It amuses John to no end the infatuation that Angelo, the owner and an alpha, seems to have with his mother. When Sherlock mentions that he successfully proved that Angelo was housebreaking in another part of town in order to disprove he was a murderer, his mother, who had been at least a little interested before, promptly ignores the large Italian. 

After a delicious dinner, the three of them head back to Baker Street, walking. Sherlock insists on carrying the overnight bag Anna had brought with her, and the three of them are laughing and joking as they walk. 

John can’t remember ever feeling this happy. Sherlock drapes his arm across his shoulders, and he loops his arm around the alpha’s waist. His mother nods in appreciation, and when they arrive back at 221B, John shows her up to Sherlock’s room. She drops her bag, which was taken from Sherlock upon their arrival on the bed. 

“John.” She holds her arms open for a hug, and he goes into the circle of her embrace willingly. “I’m so happy, you’re back.” 

“Me too, mummy. Me too.” 

“I thought I’d never see you again.” She whispers into his hair and he nods.

“I never thought I’d see you again either.” He looks up at her and she runs a thumb across his cheek. 

“Are you happy with this alpha?” She questions, a concerned look in her eye. 

“I am. He’s promised to hire a tutor to help me get my A-levels and even pay for college if I want. He’s so kind to me.” He admits and she nods. 

“Has he asked you to bond?” 

“He has. It isn’t that I don’t want to, but I don’t want him to feel like he has to if he doesn’t want to.” John says wearily, and his mother nods again. 

“Alright. I won’t question your judgment. I just worry about you.” She pulls away from him and he stands awkwardly in the room for a moment. 

“Will you come down for a cup of tea?” He asks and she grins. 

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s around midnight and John is asleep in his armchair. His cup of chamomile is long gone. Sherlock is playing a gentle melody on his violin and Anna is sitting on the couch, eyes closed and listening to the music. When the music stops, her eyes open and she smiles at the alpha who is now watching her. 

“That was beautiful.” 

“Thank you.” He drops the violin into his chair. He watches John’s chest gently rising and falling. 

“You really love him, don’t you?” She asks and he whips his head around. 

“I do…” He clears his throat. “I never thought I would care for an omega. It was all so pointless before I met him. I thought bonding was for idiots and child rearing for the misinformed.” 

As he’s saying this, he wanders over to John and scoops the omega up in his arms. He gazes down at the young unlined face in his arms and gives a small smile. 

“Well, there’s always something I’m wrong about.”


	7. Rescued and Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock begin to settle down into a normal life at Baker Street, well, as normal as life can ever be with Sherlock Holmes, but how long can it last?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this has taken so long for me to post. Student teaching is finished and I've signed up to teach summer school. This chapter was really hard to write. For some reason I've found it more difficult to write about every day life than the more exciting bits. 
> 
> Also, if there are any errors in this chapter, it's because it's 2 a.m. and I'm hurrying to get this up. Also, I'm still in the market for a beta, so if someone is interested in doing so, please message me. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly greatly appreciated. One might even say they will help get the next chapter up faster. :)

John collapses into bed, exhausted. It had been a hellish day. His mum had returned to her home in Surrey after a mere two days with Sherlock and him. Sherlock had of course been called out on a case, which meant the two Omegas had spent the entire two days going to the cinema, out to lunch and shopping. He had almost gotten used to being out among regular people, interacting with the masses on a daily basis. It had been the best two days of his life, but now all he wanted to do was crawl into bed. It hadn’t helped that today had been the last day his mum could stay with them. There had been a lot of tears. 

Now, he is alone in the flat. Sherlock had gotten the basic staples a few days ago, but they are now running low on bread, milk, jam, eggs and tea. He heaves himself up out of bed with a sigh, straightening his clothes. He wanders into the lounge, grabs his key, Oyster card, wallet and cell phone. He takes the tube down two stops to the nearest Tesco. Several alphas stare at him on the train, and it makes him incredibly uncomfortable. He knows that the smell of unbonded pregnant omega has started to become predominant around him. Pretty soon he won’t be able to go out in public unless he starts covering his scent up with beta body wash. He mentally adds that product to his list. 

He gets off the train, avoiding the avid stares of the alphas that get off with him. He walks into the store, grabbing a trolley. This is only his second time in a grocery, so the sight of limitless food still astounds him. He allows himself to take some time browsing, because surely Sherlock won’t be back until later tonight. 

John is gazing at the wall of tea, trying to decide which kind he should purchase when he feels a presence behind him. He whips around to see two of the alphas from the train leering at him. Both are about six feet tall. The one that is closest to him is ginger, with a long nose that looks as if it has been broken several times. The other is completely bald and gap toothed. 

“Hey sweet thing.” The ginger moves closer to him, grabbing his elbow. “Where’s the alpha that gave you that?” He gestures toward John’s belly, and John tries to wrench his arm back from the alpha, but the other blocks him in. Panic is rising in him. He’s heard stories about what happens to unbonded pregnant omegas. Often they are forced to bond with any alpha on the street. If the child survives without the biological alpha, then it is often murdered at birth. He places a hand protectively over his belly and tries once again to slink away. 

“Why don’t you come with us, sweetie?” The bald alpha croons. “We’ll take care of you.” 

“Please…let me go. My alpha is on his way.” The lie slips effortlessly from his lips, but the ginger sneers. 

“Well, he hasn’t been doing a good job caring for you, has he? You aren’t even bonded.” 

“We’re waiting. Please…” He manages to get his arm away from the man, and goes to push his trolley, but he’s blocked once again.

“We’ll take care of you. Just come with us. Don’t you want my huge knot?” The ginger is adamant, and John wonders how there is any way he can get out of this. 

Just as he is about to scream for help, a dark shadow appears between the two alphas and pulls them both away, almost making them fall into the shelves. They snarl at the tall alpha who is almost crouched before John. The pheromones rolling off of all three alphas makes John want to pull his trousers down and present, but instead, he steps back, his back pressed against the shelves. His entire body is shaking with fear and adrenaline. The alpha in front of him gives another growl and the two alphas back away. John wants to faint in relief. His eyelids flutter shut, and he grasps the hand bar of the trolley so hard, his knuckles turn white.

“John.” Sherlock’s voice sounds worried, and he opens his eyes. His alpha is standing in front of him, all the blood drained from his face. 

“How did you…?” John begins. Sherlock gives a small smile and shakes his head.

“I was pulling up to Baker Street as you were leaving. I figured you were going to Tesco’s, so I followed you. I was hoping to catch up with you, but I had to catch the train right after you.” He pulls John into a tight embrace. They stand like that for several minutes before Sherlock pulls away. He stares at John’s face for several long seconds, as if he’s searching for something. Whatever he sees, he seems to find it, because he wraps his arm around John’s shoulders, the other on the handle of the trolley. 

John grabs a box of tea and tosses it into the cart. Sherlock nods his approval, and they continue down the aisle. Sherlock remains tense throughout the entire shopping trip, and it isn’t until after they’ve checked out and are in the cab back to 221B that he relaxes. 

They return home and John begins to put away the shopping. A pair of arms encircle him from behind and he rests his head on the alpha’s shoulder. 

“John. We need to talk.” 

“Ok…” He turns around in Sherlock’s arms, who takes a deep breath before speaking. 

“After what happened today, I really think we should bond. I know you’re reluctant, but I think I’ve shown you that I would be a good alpha. Is there a reason you’re so averse to bonding?” Sherlock says in a rush. He’s obviously been thinking of this for awhile, and he’s nervous about what John has to say.

John is silent for a few minutes, but he finally smiles up at Sherlock. “You’re right of course. It’s just…my life hasn’t been my own in so long, I thought that bonding would be just the same. It would make my life no longer my own. I’m an idiot.” 

“Well, almost everyone is.” Sherlock says with a smile and John grins back. “I understand your logic, but the only thing bonding will change is your scent. I promise you.” 

“Alright. But we have some things to do before we disappear for five days.” John pulls himself out of Sherlock’s grasp and sat down at the kitchen table. 

“Such as…?” Sherlock asked and John sighed. 

“Well, I’d like to find an omegologist before I enter my second trimester and I’d like to double check that forcing a heat during pregnancy is alright. I’m pretty sure it is, but I’d like a doctor to confirm it. Also, we need to schedule the tutor for after the heat so that I can actually start school.” John says sheepishly and Sherlock beams. 

“We should also make sure all the bills are paid and that Lestrade knows you’ll be unavailable for a few days.” John finishes. 

“I’m glad you’ve thought of this.” Sherlock chimes in. “I have an idea for an omegologist and tutor if you’ll indulge me.” 

“Of course.” John yawns. “Whatever you think.” 

“Come on. I’ll put the rest of our groceries away. It’s time for bed for you, I think.” The alpha shoos his omega away from the table and John slides from the chair and plods through the lounge and into the bedroom. 

He strips out of his clothes, leaving just his boxers and vest on. He gives an almighty yawn as he slides between the clean sheets, snuggling under the warm duvet. He dozes for a few minutes, but wakened when the door opens and Sherlock slides into the bed next to him. An arm slides under his head and pulls him close, and he inhales the scent of his alpha deeply. 

“John, I want to say…thank you.” Sherlock whispers against his hair. 

“For what?” He mumbles sleepily and Sherlock shakes his head. 

“Everything. You’ve given me everything. I never thought I’d have someone to share my life with, or someone I would want to be around.” 

John nods drowsily against his chest, and in a few seconds, the omega is sound asleep, breathing lightly against Sherlock’s collarbone. Sherlock smiles and runs a hand down the smaller man’s back, before dropping off.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

John is sitting in the most posh looking doctor’s office he’s ever seen. Granted, his only experience with going to the doctor was for his yearly check up at the pediatrician with his mum as a kid. His leg is bouncing nervously and his hands are fidgeting nervously. 

Sherlock, however, looks completely at ease. His legs are crossed elegantly and he has a magazine open. With his bespoke suit and perfectly pressed shirt, he looks as if he belongs in this sophisticated doctor’s office. There are maybe two other omegas in the waiting room, and he’s certain he’s seen them somewhere before. 

Everything in this office screams style. Blonde hardwood floors and matching chairs are dotted about and the walls are papered in green silk damask. He feels completely out of place in his ill-fitting jeans and jumper. 

The door to the back opens and a tall blonde female alpha exits, guiding her very pregnant, but also very beautiful, omega. He’s sure he’s seen both before, but he pushes it to the back of his mind. The nurse, who is holding a clipboard, glances down at it and calls out, “Watson?”

He stands and shoots Sherlock a hopeful look, praying that the alpha will join him. He doesn’t have to worry long, because as soon as the nurse calls his name, Sherlock stands as well. Together, they follow the nurse. 

“My name is Maggie, I’ll be assisting Dr. Fulton today.” She shakes both of their hands before ushering them toward a scale. 

“If you could just take off your shoes, Mr. Watson, we’ll get your weight.” She requests and he nods. She weighs him and then gestures both the omega and alpha into an examination room. 

Sherlock plops himself unceremoniously in an extra chair and immediately pulls out his phone and begins texting. After about half a million questions, only some of which John can answer, she finally hands him a paper gown to change into and informs him that the doctor would be in shortly. 

After changing, John sits on the examination table, shifting nervously. The paper crinkles obnoxiously underneath him, disturbing the semi-silence of the room. 

“John.” Sherlock tucks his phone into his pocket and moves to stand beside him, placing a comforting hand on his back. “Everything will be fine. There’s no reason to be nervous.” 

“I know. I can’t explain it.” He shifts anxiously, chewing on a cuticle. “How do you know, this doctor, again?” 

“A friend of the family.” Sherlock sniffs dismissively, pulling out his cell phone. They don’t have to wait for very long before the door opens and a middle-aged beta doctor enters, followed by the nurse, Maggie. 

“Hello Mr. Watson, I’m Dr. Fulton.” He shakes John’s hand and then beams at Sherlock. “Hello my dear boy! How are you?” He claps the alpha on the shoulder. “How’s your mother?”

“Mummy’s fine, Uncle Alexander.” Sherlock sets himself back in the chair and John looks at him in shock.

“Uncle?” He squeaks and the doctor actually laughs. 

“Not quite. I delivered Mycroft and Sherlock. After that, well, the Holmes’ sort of adopted me.” 

“You must have been very young.” John says uncomfortably and the doctor gives a good natured laugh.

“Just out of medical school. I must have done something right, though.” He picks up John’s file and glances through it, his eyebrows rising so high that they almost disappear into his hairline. “Well, I see that you’ve had quite the past. But no need to worry.” He sets the file down and smiles at the omega who is shifting even more nervously. “We’ll take good care of you.”

The doctor fiddles with two metal contraptions at the edge of the examination table, and soon they are sticking straight out. “Ok John, if you could just scoot down a little bit and put your legs up in these and lie back, we’ll have the physical examination over in no time. 

John does as he’s told and too late he realizes that he is completely exposed to the doctor. Panic begins to rise in him and he can feel the bile in the back of his throat. He struggles to take his legs down, but the doctor places a hand on his belly to hold him still. Sherlock has taken his phone out again and is completely absorbed in whatever he is looking at, and John fights the urge to kick out at the doctor. He knows that this man wants to help him, but at the same time he wants nothing more than to flee. 

“John.” The doctor peeks up at him from between his legs and John feels like he is going to throw up. “You must relax.” 

In a flash, Sherlock is standing next to him, gripping his arm. “John, he is not going to do anything untoward. He wants to check and make sure our baby is healthy. I’m right here. I won’t let him harm you. You trust me, right?” 

The omega gives a shaky nod and an apologetic grin to the doctor who pats his knee. 

The examination ends after several very difficult minutes and John is allowed to sit up and take his legs out of the stirrups. He immediately wraps his arms around himself. He’s shaking slightly, refusing to meet anyone’s eye. Dr. Fulton’s eyebrows furrow in concern. 

“What’s the verdict, Uncle?” Sherlock says in a vain attempt to lighten the mood. 

“Well, he’s very skinny for being at eleven weeks, so I would suggest making sure he eats more regularly. Other than that, everything looks as if it is proceeding normally. If you wish, John, after you get dressed we can do an ultrasound. All you would have to do is lift up your shirt and we could see the baby.” Doctor Fulton smiles and John nods. 

“Thank you.” 

The doctor excuses himself as John gets dressed, and as soon as he is clothed, Sherlock wraps his arms around him. The smell of the alpha immediately calms him. His tremors slowly cease and he melts into the sturdy body that is holding him. 

“I’m sorry, John. I didn’t realize this would be so traumatic for you.” Sherlock says, his lips ghosting over John’s temple. 

“No, it needed to be done.” The omega shakes his head into his alpha’s chest. “I’ll get used to it. It isn’t your fault, it’s mine.” 

“John, it’s no one’s fault.” He pulls away, holding John at an arm’s length. “Except Clarke.”

The blonde’s whole body tenses at the mention of the man who held him hostage and he clears his throat anxiously. “Yes, about him…”

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to tell you. He was killed in prison. Apparently omega abuse ranks the same as pedophila in prison.” 

John visibly relaxes. “How long have you known?” 

“Not long.” The lie slips off of Sherlock’s tongue with ease and John accepts it just as easily. There’s a soft knock on the door and the doctor re-enters the room. 

“Ready, John?” He asks and John nods, hopping up on exam table again. The nurse from earlier enters, pushing a machine and she smiles. 

“If you could push up your shirt, please, John and pull your pants down so that your lower belly is showing.” Dr. Fulton gestures to John’s midsection and John does so, feeling significantly more comfortable. 

“Normally Maggie would be doing this, but I thought both you and Sherlock would feel more comfortable with me doing it the first time.” He says genially and John gives a sheepish smile. 

“Thank you…and I’m sorry for earlier.” He blushes in embarrassment and the doctor shakes his head. 

“Mycroft has informed me of your situation and I completely understand.” He squeezes some gel onto the wand of the machine. “This is going to be cold.” He presses it to John’s abdomen and the omega hisses at the chill. “I just want to say, John, that I think you might benefit from some counseling. I know an excellent omega rape therapist who would be willing to take you on.” He says as he runs the wand slickly over John’s skin as well as watching the screen. 

John glances up at his alpha who shrugs. “Thank you, doctor. We’ll think about it.”

The entire room is silent for several minutes, before it’s filled with a steady thrumming sound. 

“That’s the heartbeat.” The doctor says smiling. John leans slightly toward the screen, his mouth agape. A smile plays across Sherlock’s lips, and he grasps John’s hand and gives it a slight squeeze. 

“And…there’s the baby.” A small blob is on the screen and it’s almost impossible to tell that it’s a fetus, except for the small blip of the heart in the middle. Sherlock’s hand finds it’s way onto his shoulder and he squeezes. John looks up at him, a grin playing across his lips. 

Sherlock is completely focused on the screen and when John’s hand covers his, he starts. He grins down at his omega before pressing his lips into John’s hair. 

“Ours. We made that. It’s ours.” 

A picture is printed out and clutched safely in John’s fist as the nurse wipes off the gel from his belly. Sherlock is soon back to texting on his phone, but John can’t take his eyes off of the picture. It really doesn’t look like anything, but to him, it means everything. Living proof that his life really is changing, that there’s a little person inside of him depending on him. 

“Ready, John?” Sherlock asks, sliding his phone into his pocket. 

“As I’ll ever be.” He quips before sliding off the exam table. “Thank you, Dr. Fulton.” He extends his hand to the doctor who shakes it vigorously. 

“If there are any questions or anything, please do not hesitate to call. Sherlock knows the number.” 

“Ah, yes. There was a quick question I had, Uncle.” Sherlock says a little uncomfortably. “As I’m sure you’re aware, John and I are unbonded. We were hoping to remedy this before the child comes. Could you give me some more information on the subject?”

“Well, as you know, since John is already pregnant, he’d have to have a microheat for you to bond, and that’s best left for the second trimester. Microheats are easy enough to bring about, they last for about two days and an egg isn’t produced so there’s no chance of pregnancy, which of course, doesn’t effect you since you’re already pregnant.” He smiles at John who grins back. 

“There are two ways to induce a microheat, I can prescribe a series of hormone injections that will force you into the heat, or there’s a more natural way…” He trails off and Sherlock and John glance at each other. 

“What’s the more natural way?” John asks and the doctor blushes slightly. 

“Well, it’s a bit awkward talking about this with someone I delivered…” He gives a little laugh, clears his throat and continues. 

“Next time you are…intimate, Sherlock should bite at the back of your neck, just hard enough to draw a small amount of blood. It might be a little painful, but if it’s done right it can also be extremely pleasurable. The mixture of the alpha’s saliva and the omega’s blood induces a rush of hormones in the omega’s body. John should go into heat within two days.” He finishes and John nods. 

“I think I’d rather do it the natural way, I’ve never been a fan of being stuck with needles and wouldn’t the synthetic hormones harm the baby?” John asks. 

Dr. Fulton shakes his head. “There’s been no evidence of that, but it will probably be easier on your body and the baby to do it the natural way.” 

“Right. Thank you.” John says with a nod. He reaches his hand out to the doctor and they shake hands and Sherlock gives him a brief hug. 

“Tell your mother I said hello, and I’ll be ringing her to have her and your father over for tennis next week.” 

“Sure.” Sherlock grasps John’s wrist and tugs him to the door. John follows blindly and soon they are standing on the kerb, Sherlock’s hailing a cab and they are shooting back to Baker Street. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They return to the flat and John collapses onto the couch. Sherlock drifts into the kitchen, his fingers flying over the keys. Just as his eyes begin to drift closed, a heavy weight settles across his legs. He peeps through his lashes and watches as Sherlock curls up at the other end of the couch, covering John’s legs with his body heat. 

“What’s up?” He asks and Sherlock shakes his head. 

“The tutor will be coming tomorrow morning and you’ll be meeting every day from seven a.m. to ten a.m.” He states simply and John’s eyes fly open.

“So soon?”

“Problem?” The alpha asks and John gives a tiny shake of his head. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth and Sherlock’s forehead creases in worry. 

“John, what’s wrong?” He slides up the couch, curling his body around his omega. 

“I’m just nervous. What if I’m too stupid? What if they laugh at me? What if I’m not good enough? What if…” 

Sherlock stops him with a kiss. He pulls away and John blinks in surprise. 

“John, you’ll be fine. The whole point of having a tutor is so that you learn. They won’t laugh and you’re not stupid, so STOP worrying.” He runs his fingers through the soft blond spikes and John’s eyes drift closed. 

“What’s the tutor’s name?” John murmurs. 

“Her name is Sarah, she’s in medical school at St. Bart’s. She’s an alpha, so I’ll be staying in the apartment to supervise.” 

At the mention of another alpha, John stiffens. His entire body is rigid, and Sherlock sighs. 

“John, you’ll have to get over this aversion to alphas eventually, and what better way than to ease you into the world by introducing you to some alphas who don’t want you for your body?”

The omega flinches and becomes more withdrawn. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.” He whispers and Sherlock sighs again, running a comforting hand over his back. 

“I’m not mad, just concerned. If you want to go to medical school, you have to become more comfortable around alphas. It’s a fact of life.” 

The blond relaxes with a sigh. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop being sorry. We’ll get there. It’ll just take time. Maybe Uncle was right and you should go see a therapist.” 

“Maybe.” John snuggles closer to his alpha, burying his nose in his suprasternal notch. 

“Come on, it’s time for you to take a nap. You’re obviously tired.” Sherlock picks him up and carries him to the bed, setting him down gently on the duvet. John toes off his shoes and slides under the cool sheets, burying his nose in the pillow. 

“Wake me up for dinner?” John asks sleepily and Sherlock grins before making a small noise of approval. 

“Yes. We need to get you fed up. You’re too skinny.” 

“Yes, yes.” 

Sherlock watches over him until he falls asleep, then disappears into the lounge. He opens up his laptop glancing at his website to see if there are any new cases. He solves a few over email and then taps out an email to Dr. Fulton for the name of the omega rape counselor. When the email returns, he calls and makes an appointment for the day after next. He shuts his laptop and calls Angelo, who has decided that since Sherlock and John are now expecting he will deliver to the flat any time during business hours. 

The food arrives and Sherlock goes in to wake his soon to be mate. They eat dinner in comfortable silence before watching some more telly. Of course John would become a fan of a show that is rife with historical inaccuracies and defies every scientific law that ever existed. But he puts up with three episodes of Doctor Who before he can’t take any more. John has fallen asleep on the couch and Sherlock laughs. Ever since the pregnancy, John has been sleeping more and more. He assumes it’s from the rapid changes that are happening in his body. He scoops him up and takes him back into bed, before falling asleep next to him, his nose buried in the soft blond spikes.


	8. A Study in Pink-Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely responses. When I posted this, I never expected that I would get this great of a response. I really appreciate all the kudos and comments, and if you want to see something in particular, I'm more than willing to try and include it. Any kinks or plot issues (within reason). Love you all!

John is pacing the lounge, tapping a pencil against his other hand nervously. Sherlock, meanwhile, is reclining on the couch, his hands steepled under his chin. 

“John, I believe the appropriate phrase is, ‘you are going to wear a hole in the floor.’” He says lazily and John stops. 

“I’m sorry.” He plops down into the recliner, but his hands continue to twist nervously. After a few moments, he stands again. “I’m going to make a cuppa. Want one?” 

The alpha grunts his assent and John moves into the kitchen, fidgeting with the tea bags and mugs. Just as he turns the kettle on, the doorbell rings. From down the stairs, they hear Mrs. Hudson open the door and greet the other woman at the door. John’s eyes widen in fear and Sherlock stands to open the door. The omega darts into the lounge behind his alpha. The door opens and a tall blonde alpha is at the door. She looks about twenty-three and she has a kind smile. Even so, John stays firmly behind Sherlock, peeking around the darker alpha to stare at her. 

“Hello, you must be Sarah.” Sherlock extends his hand and they shake. 

“Yes, I am. You must be Sherlock.” She grins and then glances at the omega behind him. “And you must be John.” 

John squeaks in fear and disappears behind Sherlock who sighs. “John, come out from back there this instant. You’re being rude.” He tugs his soon to be mate to stand next to him, and John crosses his arms over his abdomen as if he’s afraid that the other alpha is going to attack him and rip the still forming life from him. To be fair, he has a point, Sherlock thinks. Alphas have been known to attack unbonded pregnant omegas and force them to abort their fetus and bond with the alpha. Luckily, Sarah is on her omegalogy rotation so she’s on heavy-duty hormone suppressants. 

“Sorry.” John says timidly and the blonde alpha smiles. 

“It’s quite alright. Shall we get started?” She gestures to the kitchen table and John nods, following her hesitantly into the kitchen. She pulls out several books and sets them on the table. John sits down and she smiles. He gives a small smile back. 

“Ok, first what I want to do is have you take a few tests. The first one will determine your reading level. You’ll read a few small stories and then you’ll answer questions on them. After that, I have a few practice A-level tests and they’ll tell us how you would do on the A-levels if you were to take them today. That will give us an idea on what to focus on. Sound good?” She asks and John nods. 

“Well, you two seem to have this in hand, so I’ll be in the lounge.” Sherlock says and John shoots him a fearful look. “Call if you need anything.” He disappears and John glances at Sarah. 

She sighs, folding her hands in front of her. “John, Sherlock explained what happened to you, and I’m very sorry, but if you want to pass your A-levels, you need to trust me. I’m not going to harm you, I’m here to help.” 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, tears forming in his eyes. Ever since the pregnancy he’s been over emotional. 

“Stop, don’t cry. Sherlock will kill me if he comes in and finds you crying.” She smiles, pulling a handkerchief from a pocket and handing it to him. He wipes his eyes and blows his nose. He doesn’t know what to do with it, and she laughs. 

“You can keep it.” She smiles and hands him the first test. “Let’s get started. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ten a.m. rolls around and John is surprised to see how fast the time flies. Sarah, as it turns out, is quite likeable and he actually enjoys their time. She is carefully grading all the tests he has taken, and his brain feels wrung out. He’s sitting quietly waiting for her to finish, his hands folded in front of him. She makes a small surprised noise every so often, but John ignores her. He’s so nervous, he feels like vomiting…but that’s probably also the morning sickness. 

Finally, she puts her pen down and looks at him. Her eyebrows are slightly raised. 

“Well?” He asks, gnawing on his bottom lip anxiously. 

“Well, I only gave you four practice tests, which were English literature, mathematics, biology and chemistry. If you want to take the others, we can do that tomorrow. Your reading level is very high, you’re reading level is actually above where most people your age are, so that’s great. You passed the English literature practice test with flying colors and you passed the biology exam as well. You just failed the chemistry and maths test. If you can pass the chemistry and maths test, you’ll be able to get into St. Bart’s, at least. It’ll be work, but I think you can do it. You’re smart enough.” She takes a deep breath and smiles at him. His mouth is hanging open slightly. 

“Are you alright, John?” She asks, her brow furrowing in concern. 

“Do you mean it?” He whispers and smiles sadly. 

“I do. We can do this. It’ll take about a year, but I think that this time next year I’ll be showing you around St. Bart’s.” She grins and starts to gather her things, shoving books and excess papers into her bag. “Now, I have to get to class, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Sarah grasps his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “See you tomorrow, John.” She lets herself out and suddenly he is sitting in the kitchen alone. 

He sits, stunned for a few moments before sliding his chair back and standing. He wanders into the lounge where Sherlock is still lying on the couch. He approaches the couch timidly, and Sherlock’s eye cracks open. 

John crawls on top of him, snuggling in. His alpha’s arms wrap around him and he grins into the sliver of skin that is peeping through the top of his purple button down. 

“How’d it go?”

“I passed two and failed two. We’re going to work on the two I failed. She thinks I can pass them all within the next year.” He gives a small giggle and Sherlock rubs his hands over his omega’s back. 

“I’m so proud of you.” He says, pressing his lips to his hairline. “Soon we’ll be Mr. and Dr. Watson-Holmes.” 

“I like the sound of that.” He tilts his head up, pressing his lips to the plush Cupid’s bow. His detective gives a small growl, pulling him against him tighter. He can feel the growing erection that is trapped in the alpha’s trousers and he rubs his hips against it. Sherlock’s hands slide under his shirt, scratching his back lightly. He hums his approval, but Sherlock’s hands slight out from under the fabric. He whimpers slightly at the loss, and Sherlock smiles against his lips. 

“Come on, Greg called me to the Yard and I want you to come.” 

“Why?” He asks, looking up at the detective. 

“There’s been a series of what Lestrade thinks is suicides. There’s been another found in Brixton. He wants me to come take a look and I want you to come with me. Afterwards we’ll go shopping. I want to start testing baby strollers and high chairs.” He stands, smoothing out his clothing. John stares at him in dismay. 

“You’ve never wanted me to come to a crime scene before. Why now?” John asks confused. 

“I want your input on this. Three suicides, all alphas. I’d like an objective outside observer. Also, Lestrade thinks that you may have some valuable insight on alpha nature considering you’ve been in contact with so many of them.” He shrugs. “But if you’d rather stay at home and watch more of that inane television show, I understand.” 

“Hey! I like Doctor Who!” John says indignantly, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. 

“Yes, I’m aware.” Sherlock smiles. “That does not make it any less illogical.” 

“Alright, alright. Well, if you don’t like it, then why do you watch it with me?” 

In three strides, the alpha is crowding in front of him. He buries his face in the blonde’s neck and nuzzles. “Because I want to see you happy. And I love you. I don’t love anyone, John, but I love you.” He pulls away and stares into the dark blue eyes of _his_ omega. 

“I love you too.” He whispers, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck. They stand there together for a few moments, and when Sherlock starts to fidget impatiently, John lets him go. 

“Come on, let’s go.” John tugs his coat on and Sherlock grins, pulling on his Belstaff coat. The detective bounds down the stairs, and John is hot on his heels. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They arrive at their destination, an old block of flats in Brixton, and Sherlock grasps his hand, tucking it into his elbow. As they approach the police tape, a curly haired alpha stops them. 

“Hello, freak.” She says snidely, glancing at John. “What’s he doing here?” She gives a sniff before stepping forward toward the omega. 

“Hey! You can’t bring an unbonded pregnant omega to a crime scene!” Her voice takes on a seductive purr. “Come to me, sweetheart. I’ll take you back to your alpha. I’m sorry the freak dragged you here, but don’t worry, I’ll take care of you…” She reaches toward him, and he flinches, pulling Sherlock’s arm over his shoulder. 

Sherlock growls at her, and she stumbles backward, shocked by this obvious display of possession. “He’s mine, Donovan. Touch him and die.” His eyes narrow in warning. She growls aggressively, but suddenly, Lestrade is at her side. 

“Donovan, knock it off. They’re with me.” He lifts up the tape and both John and Sherlock slide under. 

They travel up to the right flat in silence. John is handed a pair of coveralls, which he puts on over his clothes. Lestrade attempts to hand a pair to Sherlock, but the dark haired detective waves him away. 

When they step into the room, John is surprised by the lack of blood. He’d always thought suicides to be bloodier. There’s a woman lying face down in the center of the room and she’s clad entirely in the most blindingly shade of pink he’s ever seen. Sherlock snaps on a pair of gloves and immediately crouches down by the body. John watches as he runs his hand under her collar then smoothes it over her jacket. He continues to carefully inspect every aspect of her body and clothing, and John wonders again why he’s here. There’s a word carved into the floor, and the murdered alpha’s fingernails are torn to bits on her left hand. _Rache_. 

“Rache, German for revenge.” A slightly nasal voice says from the doorway, and John whips around to see a beta member of the forensic team. He’s clad in the same coveralls as John, and he’s looking at the group, confused. “Don’t be messing anything up, freak. This is a crime scene, you know.” He says haughtily. 

Sherlock straightens and moves to the door. “Anderson, don’t speak aloud. You’ll lower the IQ of the whole street.” He shuts the door with a slam and moves back to the body, resuming the position he just left. 

“John, come here.” Sherlock orders him, and he inches closer to the body. “What do you see?” He gestures to the body and John’s brow furrows in confusion. 

“A dead alpha?”

“Very sound analysis, but I was hoping you’d go a little deeper.” Sherlock says with a smile. 

John crouches down and looks closely at the body. It isn’t until he sniffs that he realizes something is wrong. 

“If she’s an alpha, then why does she smell like an omega in heat?” He asks and Sherlock grins, as if he’s just explained a complex mathematical equation. 

“Excellent, John. Why indeed.” He stands and strips the gloves off, tossing them toward Lestrade. “Tell me, Lestrade, why you needed myself and my mate down here to do a job your nose could do.” 

Greg has the decency to look baffled and approaches the body, giving it a loud sniff. “How come no one noticed that before?”

“Are there any omegas or alphas on your forensic team?” Sherlock asks and Lestrade shakes his head. “It would have taken an omega or an alpha to smell that.” He points at the body. 

“Ok…so what is an alpha doing smelling like an omega in heat?” The DI asks.

“Excellent question, Lestrade. Synthetic pheromones.” 

“Sorry…what?” Greg still looks baffled, and Sherlock sighs. 

“Synthetic pheromones, Lestrade. She was doused with them before she was murdered. I put the time of death about twelve hours ago, so if we calculate the decay rate of the scent…” He says, clicking away at his phone. “That means she would have smelled like an omega in heat when she died. Which means, it had to have been an omega or a beta that murdered her. An alpha couldn’t have gotten near her without going into a frenzy.” He tucks his phone away. “And there’s no sign of sexual trauma, which leads us to a beta or omega.”

“Ok, so that leaves us, what, about two thirds of the population left?” Greg asks. “What else can you give me?”

“Well, she was just off the train from Cardiff, she’s a serial adulterer. Her male omega is infertile and she’s been considering dissolving the bond for awhile. She probably has a string of beta lovers that she keeps in the city to keep from her omega finding out. I’ll know more once I have her case.” Sherlock glances around the room. “Where is it?”

“Case?” Lestrade repeats, and Sherlock heaves an extremely put upon sigh. 

“Yes, Lestrade, her case. Where is it? Did she eat it?” 

“There wasn’t any case, Sherlock.” Lestrade growls. 

“Oh.” Sherlock looks a little lost, but then his expression clears. “Oh. Oh! Brilliant!” He rushes from the room and down the stairs. 

“Sherlock, what? What’s going on?” Lestrade and John both dart after him, and Greg shouts over the banister. 

“Her case, Lestrade, her case! Pink!” He turns to go, but looks back up. “Take John home, will you? I have an errand to run.” With that, he is out the door and gone. 

Panic is crouching upon John, and he fights it down. The memory of the last time he was out without Sherlock is still vivid in his mind. He knows that Lestrade will take care of him, they’re practically family with Lestrade being bonded to Mycroft. But the fact that _his_ alpha isn’t there to protect him makes him nervous. Lestrade has no personal stake in his life, would he fight for John and his baby? 

Lestrade looks at him again in pity and John smiles tightly. “There’s no need to take me home. I’ll just…” He pulls out his wallet and glances at his money situation. “Take the tube.” 

“You sure? Honestly, I would take you home, but someone has to supervise this lot.” He gestures to the forensics team that is now flooding the room and John nods. 

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” He plods down the stairs and out onto the pavement. He keeps a safe distance from the alpha Sally, and makes his way to the high road so that he’ll be able to figure out where the nearest tube station is. He makes it to the corner, and a sleek black Town Car pulls up in front of him. 

“Get in the car, Mr. Watson.” A smooth male voice comes from inside the darkened interior, and John flinches. 

“Who are you?”

There’s a sigh, and a face appears in the doorway. “Mycroft Holmes. Get in the car, please.” 

John recognizes the Holmes scent and nods. He climbs into the car and sits next to the beta, who is staring at him intently. 

“Thank you for giving me a ride.” John says uncomfortably and Mycroft nods. 

“Well, to be honest, I have my own motives. I understand that you plan on bonding with my brother.” Mycroft says, fidgeting slightly with his umbrella. 

“Yes…” John looks at him in confusion. “But I don’t understand how that involves you.” 

“My brother is…very special, Mr. Watson. He has never shown the remotest interest in any beta or omega. Which makes me wonder, what is so special about _you_ , Mr. Watson?” He is staring at him intently, and John feels slightly nervous. 

“There’s nothing special about me.” 

“There must be. Something that my brother must see in you.” He coaxes gently, but John shakes his head. 

“That’s something you’ll have to ask your brother. I don’t pretend to understand what goes on in that mind of his.” John says with a shrug. 

“Yes, well. I do worry about him…constantly. I could make you a very generous offer to help me keep an eye on my brother.” 

“What?” John exclaims. “You’re offering me money to spy on your brother?”

“Yes.” 

“Well forget it. No thank you.” He says flatly and Mycroft looks even more intrigued. 

“You’re very loyal, very quickly.” 

“No, I’m not. I’m just not interested.” John says with a glance out the window. “Where are we?” 

“Well, since my brother seems uninterested in taking care of you, I thought I’d take you out for food that isn’t Angelo’s. The doctor did say that it was imperative for you to eat more, did he not?” Mycroft says offhandedly. 

“I’m not going to ask how you know that. But thank you.” The car pulls up outside of a fancy looking French restaurant and John swallows. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately for this place.” He glances down at his jeans and jumper, but Mycroft shakes his head. 

“Nonsense. The owner owes me a favor. It doesn’t matter what you are wearing.” The beta climbs out of the car and moves around to open the door for his brother’s omega. They are ushered inside to a table right at the front. John looks at the menu, but quickly realizes it is completely in French. The water reappears, and John figures he’ll just close his eyes and pick something, but Mycroft surprises him. 

“Yes, we’ll start off with a bottle of the 2006 Petrus. Mr. Watson here will have the _boeuf bourguignon_ followed by your largest slice of chocolate _gateau_. I will have the _bouillabaisse_. Thank you.” He hands both menus to the waiter, who bows and disappears. 

“Thank you.” John says to Mycroft who waves an elegant hand in dismissal. 

“Not at all, John.” 

“But, I’m not really allowed to have wine, you know. Pregnant and all that.” John pats his belly and Mycroft smiles. 

“While I appreciate your efforts to keep my niece or nephew out of harms way, according to Uncle Alexander one glass of wine will harm neither you nor the infant. And really, you must try this vintage. It’s the best.” Mycroft says as the waiter returns with the bottle and pours a tiny amount into each glass. John follows his lead and swirls the rich red wine around the glass before taking a sip. It actually is quite nice. He’s never had alcohol before. 

“Thank you, very nice.” Mycroft says to the waiter who nods and pours more wine into each of their glasses. Soon the food appears. 

Mycroft has ordered him a simple looking beef stew and has ordered some sort of fish soup for himself. They eat in silence, and he isn’t surprised that food tastes superb. It’s a pretty large meal for lunch, but he devours all of it, thankful that he’s successfully avoided morning sickness for today. 

They finish their meal and the waiter comes with his chocolate _gateau_ which is really just a large piece of chocolate cake. He tucks in and is only able to finish half of it before he offers the rest to Mycroft. 

“I really shouldn’t…” He says, but he’s staring at the cake longingly so John insists. The owner comes over and insists John take the rest of the cake home and when Mycroft attempts to pay he refuses. 

Just as they’re exiting the restaurant, the car pulls up and they climb in. John can’t remember ever having a nice time at a restaurant with Sherlock. They’ve always been in a hurry to get to a case. He loves Sherlock, but he wants a certain sense of normalcy. He enjoys going out on cases, and he loves the life he has with his future mate, but he wants to go to the cinema and out to restaurants or to art galleries, he wants to experience all the culture he missed while he was held captive. 

The car pulls up to 221 Baker Street and John climbs out, his to go container clutched in his hand. 

“Thank you, Mycroft.” 

“You’re welcome, John. I hope to see you soon. Please call on me should you ever need anything.” He calls out to the omega, and John nods. 

He shuts the door and strides up to the door, which opens as soon as he steps on the stoop. 

He’s pulled into the building with a growl. Sherlock slams the door closed and presses him up against the wall. He presses his nose into John’s neck and growls at the scent he finds there. 

“Where have you been?!” Sherlock snarls into his omega’s neck. 

“Mycroft grabbed me as I was leaving the crime scene. He made me go to a restaurant with him.” John struggles against the firm hold and Sherlock releases him. 

He presses against him, nuzzling his nose into the omega’s neck. “You still smell like him. You need to get upstairs, NOW.” The last word has the alpha command to it and he obeys without question. He darts up the stairs and into the lounge, Sherlock hot on his heels. 

The alpha strips him of his clothes in no time and scents him, while taking his own clothes off at the same time. It’s an impossible feat, but he does it. 

“John, you realize that you’re approaching your second trimester? We can bond in exactly…four days.” He’s breathless with desire and John groans, pressing his neck against Sherlock’s. 

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” He pushes the omega away from him and John gives a pitiful whine. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“We need to wait. We can’t have sex until we bond. It could hurt the baby.” He holds John at an arms length. 

John collapses onto the couch, suddenly depressed and angry at the same time. “You know, I don’t understand why you keep me around. You don’t trust me to do anything on my own, you don’t want me. What is my role in your life? A live in? If I wanted that, I’d go back to that house and be the merry-go-round.” He grabs his clothes, pulling them on shakily. He’s so overwhelmed with emotion, he just wants to get away. 

“John…” Sherlock begins to stand but John steps away from him. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just…I don’t know what’s going on with me. My emotions are just…I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me. Please.” John kneels at his alpha’s feet and Sherlock slides down to kneel across from him. 

“John, it’s just the hormones. You’ll be fine once you enter the second trimester.” He pulls John into his embrace. 

“God, I hope so. I don’t know how much longer I can take this, Sherlock…I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster.” He snuggles in, pressing his face into his alpha’s chest. 

“We need to continue investigating this case. Something tells me the person behind this is also behind you and the other omegas being held captive.” Sherlock whispers into John’s hair and the omega’s head whips up. 

“You think so?” 

“Yes…I do. They’re all interconnected some way. I just don’t know how.” 

“Ok, alright. Yes.” He pulls away and pushes Sherlock’s clothes toward him. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s perfectly alright.” He clears his throat. “Part of the reason I asked Lestrade to bring you home was because I found out where her case was.” He gestures to a lurid pink suitcase that’s sitting on the coffee table.

“Where did you find it?” 

“A skip. Once I was able to deduce all the possible routes he could have taken, it took only three-quarters of an hour’s search to find it.” Sherlock stands and pulls on his trousers and shirt. He slaps a nicotine patch to his forearm and takes up his requisite spot in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin. It amazes him how quickly they have gone from sex to arguing to calmly discussing the case. 

“Wait, he? How do you know it’s a man? I thought you said it was either an omega or a beta?” He questions and Sherlock smiles. 

“Yes, but can you imagine a male omega or beta with this pink of a suitcase? They would want to get rid of it as soon as possible. It would look strange. Therefore, a male omega or beta.” Sherlock waves a hand dismissively and John is once again in awe of his brilliance. 

“John, I want you to send a text. I’m going to give you a number and then dictate a message.” 

“Alright.” He pulls out his mobile and John rattles off a number, which he enters. 

“Now, say, ‘I must have been so drunk last night, I can’t remember anything. Meet me at 5 Northumberland St.’”

“Ok.” He types that in and then looks up at the alpha expectantly. “Now what?”

“Now, we wait.” 

“Wait for what?” The omega asks and when Sherlock doesn’t answer, John glances back down at his phone. 

“Wait a minute…did I just text a murderer?” 

“Excellent deduction, John.” Sherlock smiles and John drops the phone in front of him. 

“So, you think the murderer still has the pink lady’s phone?” 

“I think it fell out of her case or he kept it as a souvenir. Now he gets a text that can only be from her.” He points at John’s phone just as it rings. 

“Am I getting a call from a murderer?” John asks and Sherlock grins. 

“Come along, John.” Sherlock stands and smoothes out his clothing before pulling his scarf and coat on and John follows.   
They walk down the street and Sherlock is muttering incoherently, so John tunes him out. He’s not really sure what is going on, but he trusts Sherlock, despite their argument earlier. Suddenly, they’re at Angelo’s in their usual table.

“Sherlock, I’m still not sure what we’re doing here.” He says uncomfortably as a waiter arrives with their food, which they no longer even have to order. 

“We’re waiting to see if he shows up.” Sherlock says as if John is speaking a different language. 

“So, we’re basically waiting for a murderer. Do you think he’ll show up? Do you think he’s really that stupid?”

“No, I think he’s that brilliant.” Sherlock says, his eyes trained on the window. 

“Oh…okay.” John says, scooping up a mouthful of risotto. 

“John…I think we have something.” Sherlock says and John whips around. “Don’t look, just act naturally.” 

“You’re looking.” 

“Well, we can’t both look.” Sherlock says with a small smile. “That cab has been idling there for the last five minutes.”

“You think it’s him?” John asks, turning around again. 

“Let’s go, John.” Sherlock pulls on his coat, grabs John’s hand, and they’re off. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later, when John is trying to catch his breath against the wall in the hallway of 221, he wonders if all that running is good for the baby, but it’s only for a moment. He hasn’t felt this great in ages. He gives a breathless giggle and soon, they’re both laughing. 

“Sherlock, what have you done?” Mrs. Hudson asks, bustling out of her flat. 

“What’s going on, Mrs. Hudson?” John asks, but Sherlock doesn’t wait for her to respond. He runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time. John follows and finds the entire flat swarming with police officers.

“What’s going on? What are you doing in our flat?” The omega asks indignantly, and Lestrade, who is sitting in Sherlock’s chair, shrugs. 

“It’s a drugs bust.” 

“Drugs. Really? Him, a drug addict?” John asks, miffed. 

“John, shut up.” Sherlock orders, and the blond looks at him in confusion, before his face finally clears in understanding. 

“Ah. Right.”

“Sherlock, you can’t keep evidence from us. That was one of our conditions when you started working with us, that you wouldn’t keep evidence from us. It’s against the _law_.” Greg growls in irritation and Sherlock snorts dismissively. John can practically see the cogs working in Sherlock’s head. 

“John…what’s the e-mail listed on the tag on her case, again?” He asks and John strides over to the case, glancing at the tag. 

“Jenny@mephone.com.” He drops the tag and Sherlock’s face breaks out into a beatific grin. 

“Get our laptop out. Her phone has GPS.” 

John grabs the laptop and hands it to Sherlock, who plops down at his desk and quickly logs into Jenny’s mephone account and in seconds, they have a position on where the phone is.

Glancing over his alpha’s shoulder, the blond’s brow furrows as he looks at the map. 

“It says it’s here in 221…how could it be here?” He asks and suddenly Lestrade is next to him. 

“Could it have fallen out of the case?” The DI asks and Sherlock snorts.

“Really? You think it fell out of the case? While it was with me?” 

Lestrade gives a reluctant nod. “You’re right of course.” 

“Ok, so if it couldn’t have fallen out of the case, then where is it?” John asks with a shrug. 

“Sherlock, there’s a cab driver here for you.” Mrs. Hudson shouts up the stairs. Both Greg and John look at him but all three are ignored by the dark haired alpha. 

Sherlock’s mind is moving a mile a minute. He’s pacing the lounge, his hands thrust haphazardly into his flyaway curls. 

Suddenly, his phone dings with a text message. He stops in his tracks and reaches into his pocket, pulling his mobile out. He glances at the text then turns toward the door. 

“I have an errand to run, I’ll be back later.” He darts down the stairs, and John feels as if a tornado has just blown through the flat. 

“Where’s he going?” Lestrade asks and John shrugs. 

“Who knows with Sherlock.” He glances back to the computer, which has gone into thinking mode. 

“Well, when he comes back, send him down to the Yard.” Lestrade tugs his coat on. 

“Why do you even bother if he’s more trouble than he’s worth?” The omega asks the question he has wanted to ask since the first time he ever met Lestrade. 

“Because Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and I think one day, with a lot of work, he can be a good one.” 

John nods as the flat empties of police officers and the forensics team. He sits in front of the computer for a few moments. Everything is starting to fall into place. He has a feeling he knows exactly what is going on. The murderer texted Sherlock a location to go to and now his alpha is in the hands of someone who has murdered three alphas already. He isn’t quite sure what to do, but he remembers Sherlock showing him the combination to a locked safe in their bedroom, which held their passports, Sherlock’s newly constructed will and also a gun and bullets. 

He strides into the bedroom and extracts the gun and a round of bullets. He’s never shot a gun, but he has a vague notion of how it works. Even so, he prays he won’t have to use it. He wants to bring it along just in case. 

The computer dings from the lounge, and he jogs back to it. The GPS has locked onto the murderer’s location, and John grabs the computer, slamming it closed. He makes sure he has his wallet with enough money for a taxi, tucks the laptop under his arm, and sprints out the door into the cool night.


	9. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John saves Sherlock from certain death and they (finally) bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm an awful person. I'm so so sorry it's been this long since I've updated. RL has gotten in the way and here I am giving you a short chapter. New job starts in late August and I have to move at the beginning of August, so packing and preparation has gotten in the way. I'm hoping to make updates more regular once the job starts, but I hope you guys stick with me until then. Anyway, enjoy! This is the chapter most of you have been waiting for. I may write a heat scene if I get enough of a response that people want one. 
> 
> Reviews and kudos are always welcome. Thank you all for the lovely response. :)

The laptop is balanced precariously on John’s knees in the back of the taxi. It gives a huge wobble as John orders the cabbie to turn left at the next light. 

His stomach is roiling. He’s not exactly sure what he expects to do when they arrive. The gun is tucked into the back of his pants, a hard cold weight resting in the small of his back. The cabbie pulls up to an empty school. There’s a second cab parked outside, and John throws some cash at the taxi driver, tucks the laptop under his arm and stands next to the empty cab for several seconds. He makes a rash decision, setting the laptop in the empty cab and rushing into the building on the right.

He allows his nose to guide him, the scent of his alpha leading him to where he’s obviously being held hostage. The school is a network of musty smelling halls. The cleaners have obviously just finished, the floor is shiny with wax. He finally reaches the classroom where Sherlock is being held, and he hears voices within, the low rumble of his alpha as well as the more moderate Cockney accented voice. 

“No. I don’t kill alphas. I just talk to them and they kill themselves.” The other voice says. 

He listens as Sherlock deduces the beta’s entire life and flinches as the man goads his alpha. He knows that Sherlock cannot stand down when someone tells him he can’t deduce something. 

It goes quiet in the room, and John draws the gun and bursts into the room. Both Sherlock and the beta cab driver are standing across from each other, a table between them. They’re holding a small pill up to their lips, but Sherlock lowers it when he sees John. The beta has an ugly look on his face and starts to reach behind him.

“Don’t move. Move and I’ll shoot.” John snarls and the beta’s eyes grow wide. 

“John…” Sherlock starts, but John ignores him. 

“You’re going to walk down to the Yard and turn yourself in. There are two witnesses to your confession, myself and my alpha.” John gestures to the beta with the gun and the cabbie grins.

“No, you’re going to let me go, because I’m on your side.” He holds his hands up in an offering of peace, the phial still held between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“No, you aren’t. If you’re after my alpha, you are my enemy.” John growls. 

“No, I’m your friend. You see, my omega was taken from me and given to an arrogant alpha like this one. That’s what started this. His _fan_ here has offered to get me my omega back _and_ provide money for our home. He can find your family too. Just let me go. We’ll take care of this alpha and find your real home. What do you say?” The white haired beta edges closer to him and John shakes his head. 

“No, Sherlock _is_ my family. Without him, I’d be back in that hell hole.” He moves closer to his alpha, but in an instant the man has thrown himself onto the smaller omega. 

“John!” Sherlock screams, watching as the beta and omega grapple over the gun. 

The man bends his wrist back and John whimpers in pain. Sherlock is snarling, rushing to the aid of his omega. John tries to elbow the cabbie in the face to get him off of him. All he can think of is Sherlock and the baby. What if this awful man knees him in the stomach? What if the gun goes off and he gets shot. He isn’t sure he can handle being shot again, and he’s even less sure that the tiny fetus, hardly grown inside of him would survive. The beta’s hand is on the gun, which suddenly goes off. 

The heavy weight of the other man falls on top of him and he begins to panic. Sherlock shouts his name again, and John flings the gun away.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, I’m fine. I’m not hurt.” He pants, pushing the man off of him. He can feel now that nothing is damaged. There’s no wound, no pain anywhere, except for his wrist which had been wrenched back. 

The cab driver groans in pain and Sherlock pulls his omega to his feet. John stumbles away from the man on the ground, but Sherlock approaches him.

“What’s the name of my _fan_?” Sherlock asks, but the man shakes his head, gasping in pain. 

“Give me a name!” Sherlock growls, tossing the pill at him. It bounces off of his face and rolls under a table.

“You’re dying, but I can still hurt you.” Sherlock steps on the man’s shoulder, pressing his heel as hard as he can into the bullet wound and the driver screams. 

“Who sent you?” The alpha snarls and the cab driver whimpers and shakes his head. 

“WHO SENT YOU?!” Sherlock screams, and John presses the heels of his palms to his ears. The sensation is overwhelming him. Flashes of _that night_ are dancing behind his eyelids. The sound of the gun, methodically murdering his friends is drumming in his ears. He’s breathing fast and his heartbeat is a steady thrum in his chest. He lets out a whimper, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his head. 

“Moriarty!” The cab driver shouts back at him, before taking his last shuddering breath. 

Sherlock removes his foot from the cabbie’s shoulder, a small satisfied sigh leaving his lips. He glances around the room, knowing that John will be there with an “amazing!”, but stops up short when he sees the omega curled on the ground whimpering. 

“John! John!” He rushes over to the blond and smoothes a hand down his back, but the omega curls even further in on himself and scoots away, crying in earnest now. 

“John, it’s alright. It’s me.” He scoops the smaller man up in his arms, and at first, he struggles. But as soon as the smell of his alpha hits him, he snuggles into the taller man’s arms, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. He takes several deep breaths, inhaling the rich scent of alpha straight from the source. 

Sherlock runs his hands over John’s back until he stops shaking. “John, I’m going to take you outside. I’m sure the police will be here any moment. Mycroft will take care of everything, but you need to get checked out.”

He nods shakily, and Sherlock carries him through the maze of immaculate halls and out of the building, stepping onto the pavement just as the panda cars pull up. Lestrade jumps out and rushes toward them. 

“What happened?” He gasps out, approaching the couple. Blood paints the front of John’s shirt, and it’s obvious what Lestrade thinks has happened, but Sherlock shakes his head. 

“Not his. The cab driver attacked him with a gun. He was trying to protect me, and they fought over the gun. It went off.” For the first time, Sherlock realizes how close he came to losing both John and the baby. He shudders and clutches his omega tightly to him. John buries his nose in the V of skin that’s peeking out from the top of the alpha’s shirt. 

An ambulance pulls up, and though Sherlock is reluctant to let go of the blond, he eventually does, allowing a beta paramedic to check him over. He sets him on the back of the ambulance, and the driver drapes an orange shock blanket over him. John’s eyes are still glassy, but he looks as if he’s finally starting to come back to himself. 

“Sherlock?” He asks blearily as the medic checks his pulse, blood pressure and eyes. 

“John, you’re alright. You had a bit of a flashback, so you’re going to get checked out by this paramedic, and then we can head home, alright?” He rubs his hand down his omega’s back comfortingly and John nods absently. 

After several moments of observation, the medic shakes his head. “There’s nothing really wrong with him. It looks as if he suffered a flashback. He just needs a cup of tea with a shot of whiskey and a good night’s sleep.” He says with a smile. “He’ll be right as rain tomorrow morning.”

Lestrade approaches them just as John stands up. Sherlock tucks his omega under his arm. 

“You’ll need to come in to the station tomorrow for your statements, but you’re free to go for now.” He shakes his head. “It looks like he was working alone.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Sherlock says with a smirk. 

“Alright, go on then.” Lestrade sighs.

“Moriarty.”

“Who?” He asks, his brow furrowing. 

“Moriarty. I’m not sure what it means yet, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out.” Sherlock guides his omega away from the crime scene, keeping the younger man tucked under his arm. 

“Chinese?” He asks delicately and John gives a brief smile and a nod. “Feel any better?”

“A bit. I’m…sorry, about earlier.” He says in a small voice and Sherlock shakes his head. 

“It’s quite alright, John. I think we need to get you to the therapist that Dr. Fulton recommended. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to get you there.” 

“I thought I was better. I don’t know why this affected me so badly.” John says sadly.

“You’ve had a bad time of it. I don’t blame you for being traumatized.” He pulls John even closer to him, inhaling the soft scent of the omega’s shampoo. It hits him again how close he came to losing this, to never feeling the solid weight of _his_ John under his arm again. He suddenly doesn’t want to ever leave their flat ever again. He knows it isn’t feasible. That if he were to keep John in the flat for the rest of their lives, they would both go mad, but he can’t help the impulsive thought. He chocks it up to alpha protectiveness and their current unbonded status. It’s four days until John enters his second trimester and they can force a bonding heat, and he wonders if he couldn’t keep them both in the flat for that time. 

“There’s a good Chinese right by Baker Street that stays open until three. You can always tell a good Chinese by the bottom half of the door handle.” He says offhandedly and John gives a breathy laugh. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Four days later, John awakes, stretching sleepily. Sherlock’s hot breath is ghosting over his neck, and he snuggles deeper into the alpha’s embrace. 

“Mmmm.” Sherlock moans lightly into his ear. There’s something hard digging into the small of his back and John grins. It’s the first day of his second trimester. It’s bonding day. He’s been waiting for this for what seems like forever. 

They’ve spent the last three days running errands and going to doctor’s appointments. John particularly has been catching up on school work since he won’t be seeing Sarah for three days. A case of bottled water is stacked in the corner as well as several boxes of granola bars. The situation with the cab driver scared Sherlock more than the alpha cared to admit. He’d refused to let John out of his sight for those three days, and the omega was going mad. 

He presses back against the hardness against his back and Sherlock groans again.

“If you’re going to keep wiggling like that, then you have to do something about it.” 

“Don’t mind if I do.” He rolls over and swings a leg over his alpha’s waist so that his erection is pressing against the inside of his thigh. He leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to the older man’s lips. The kiss deepens as Sherlock runs his tongue across the seam of the omega’s lips. His hands snake their way under John’s shirt, scraping his nails across his back lightly. 

John arches into the feeling, pressing his hips even harder into the alpha’s erection. His shirt is lifted off and long spidery hands are fluttering at his waist, pulling down this pajama pants and exposing his own erection, which is already weeping. Long fingers wrap around it, working the foreskin down to expose the glans. He rubs his thumb across the head, gathering the precome there. He rubs it over his fingertips and then sticks his fingers in his mouth. He moans at the taste and John is panting with arousal now. 

He reaches down and tugs down Sherlock’s pajama bottoms and scratches at the shirt, anxious now to get started. 

“John, we have to take this slow. It’s important we do this correctly. We both have to orgasm at the same time as I bite your neck to release the bonding hormones.” He grabs at John’s arms and the omega whimpers. 

In one swift movement, he flips the blond over and positions himself behind his lover. His fingers trail down John’s arse crack and finds it is already lubricating. He read in “What to Expect When Your Omega’s Expecting” that he’ll stay fairly well lubricated until the birth. 

John moans and presses against the welcome intrusion of fingers at his wet hole. Sherlock buries his face in between the cheeks and his tongue darts out, sweeping around the rim before finding it’s way inside. He strokes his tongue along the heated rim and groans at the overwhelming flavor of pregnant omega. _His_ pregnant omega. 

Sherlock stops, stretching himself along his omega’s back. His cock rests right along the curve of John’s buttocks. He thrusts lightly against his slippery hole. He’s highly sensitive from not having sex for so long. His breath is coming quickly. Sherlock presses his cock between John’s thighs, and John clenches his thighs together tightly, providing just the friction he needs. He wraps a hand around to grasp at John’s prick and he’s stroking frantically, trying to bring his omega to orgasm. 

“Please tell me you’re close.” Sherlock pants in John’s ear. John throws his head back, resting it on the alpha’s shoulder. 

“Faster. I’m almost there.” John groans. His hand wraps itself around Sherlock’s, and their hands are speeding up and down. His thumb twists at the head and John gasps, pressing his arse harder into Sherlock’s hips. 

“This is it. I’m going to come!” John shouts and Sherlock moans, his hips snapping against John’s plump arse. He can feel his orgasm building right behind his balls. Just as it crests, he clamps his teeth down on John’s neck. There’s a warm wetness between his fingers. The tangy taste of the omega’s blood seeps into his mouth and he laves his tongue over the small bite mark. His saliva mixes with the blood, and he can almost smell the change in John’s hormones immediately. 

John slumps forward onto the pillows and Sherlock collapses next to him. He buries his nose in the blond’s hair, trying to catch his breath. 

Within the next few hours, John’s body will enter into a mock heat and they’ll emerge from the mock heat in three days, their scents mixed completely. 

“John, are you alright?” He asks, running his hand across the omega’s sweaty back. 

“I’ll let you know when I can feel my toes again.” He says with a little laugh. He rolls over, facing his alpha. 

“Are you?”

“Quite.” He pulls the blond into his embrace, resting his chin on the crown of his head. 

“I can’t believe this is actually happening.” John whispers into the smooth skin of the alpha’s shoulder. He smells like oranges, tea and something slightly acidic. “I never thought this would actually happen.” 

“Neither did I.” Sherlock says quietly. “I love you, John.”

“Mmm. Not as much as I love you.”

They lay wrapped up together on the sweaty semen stained sheets, their legs entwined. Sherlock runs his fingers through the soft blond hair, soothing the omega into a light sleep before the heat properly starts. His breathing begins to even out as he dozes against the broad chest of his alpha. 

Sherlock allows himself to close his eyes and rest, anticipation rising in his stomach.  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Three days later, Sherlock awakens with a groan. There’s a faint whistling sound coming from the kitchen. Metal banging against the hob causes him to jolt from the bed and he whimpers at the pain in his lower back and thighs. 

He climbs out of the bed, wrapping the stained sheet around him and hobbles into the lounge. John is wrapped in his dressing gown, whisking something in a sauté pan. Sherlock sniffs in that direction. Eggs, bacon, tea. He collapses onto the couch with a sigh and a pained whimper. John looks over his shoulder at him and laughs. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” He dumps the scrambled eggs onto a plate with two slices of bacon and a piece of toast. He carries the plate over to him and he takes the plate gratefully. 

“How are you able to be so chipper?” Sherlock growls, scooping eggs into his mouth. 

John laughs again, and Sherlock gives a reluctant smile. 

“Omegas are meant to take a pounding.” He says with a wink and Sherlock practically chokes on his eggs at the sexual innuendo. 

“No, really. Think about it. Most of us go through heats once a month, there are a few that go through it maybe six times a year, but most do it once a month. Then we get pregnant, our bodies undergo a drastic change and we push out something the size of a watermelon. Our bodies are adapted to change, yours, on the other hand, are not.” He wanders back into the kitchen with his own plate and sits down next to his alpha. 

Sherlock waits until his omega is finished with his breakfast before reaching over and tugging him into his lap. His muscles scream in pain, but he ignores it. He buries his face in the junction of John’s shoulder and neck and inhales deeply. He smells like a perfect combination of the two of them. Oranges, tea, vanilla and something slightly chemical. The omega sighs in his arm and relaxes against him. The bump of his hard belly is rubbing against his own concave stomach and the alpha in him growls in approval. His hand rubs against the baby bump, and he pushes the dressing gown aside to see it. 

Honey gold skin is stretched perfectly across the tiny bump. A thin trail of hair trails down from his belly button and disappears into his pants. 

“Do you want a boy or a girl?” Sherlock asks and John shrugs. 

“I don’t really care, as long as it looks like you.” 

Sherlock snorts. “That poor child. God forbid he ends up with my hair.” 

“He?” John asks with a smile.

“Yes, I believe it will be a boy.” Sherlock says simply and now it’s John’s turn to snort. 

“There’s no way you can deduce that.” 

“No?” The alpha says with a grin and John shakes his head. 

“Well, if you say so.” He climbs off of his mate’s lap. “What do we have on for today?”

“Hmmm, not sure. I’ll have to check for texts and emails. It’s possible Lestrade texted me with a case. Also, you have a doctor’s appointment at 1.” Sherlock reaches for his laptop and flicks it open. 

“I just saw Dr. Fulton three days ago.” He says with a slight whine. 

“No, the therapist.” Sherlock says with a wave of his hand. “Mycroft made the appointment. She’s quite a skilled omega rape therapist, as well as a respected psychologist.” 

“Oh. Right. Well, I’ll go shower and get changed then.” John dumps the plates in the sink. 

“You have time. I’m going to go shopping while you’re in your apartment, we’re out of Petri dishes and slide covers. Is there anything you need from the store?” Sherlock asks cordially, closing his laptop. 

John grins at him, obviously pleased he’s taking a more active role in the upkeep of the house. “Do you mind if I make a list?” He asks shyly and Sherlock gives a good natured sigh. 

“As long as it’s not too long.” He sticks his tongue out and John laughs. 

“Right.” He walks over and kisses Sherlock lightly on the lips. “Love you.”

“Mmmm.” John starts to pull away, but Sherlock wraps his arms around John’s waist, his head resting on his belly. He glances up at his omega. “Love you too.” He places a kiss on the exposed bump. “Love you too.”


	10. The Blind Banker Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John begins to help Sherlock on cases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to post this. Moving is a pain in the butt. Also, starting a new job. Anyway, I've tried to remain true to the original story line, but if you find that I've screwed things up, please feel free to let me know. Also, a friend of mine and I are going to be writing a cross over fic with Bones, so be on the lookout for that too. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated, so please leave a comment! :) Thank you all for the wonderful response, I never thought it would be this big. 
> 
> Also, this has not been beta'ed or Brit-picked.

“So, John. Mycroft told me that you and your mate met under…unusual circumstances.” The dark skinned omega says delicately and John immediately tenses. For a second, she feels like kicking herself, but he loosens up almost immediately. He takes a deep breath. 

“Yes. I was kidnapped as a child and held captive as a whore for ten years. Is that what you wanted to hear?” He practically snarls and she sighs. 

“We need to have an open, honest relationship if this whole therapy thing is going to work. I’m just trying to get to know you so that I can help you.” She says and John cringes. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just….a sensitive subject still.” He runs a hand across his face and she smiles sympathetically. 

“It’s quite alright. Tell me how you and Sherlock met.” She has a notepad resting on her crossed knees and John nods. 

“Yes, well, he was investigating the murder of several omegas and he came to the house to investigate. I was kept there and my heats were sold, it just so happened that Sherlock purchased one of mine in order to investigate. A month later, Clarke, the man who kept me hostage, tried to kill all of the omegas. I got shot and ended up in the hospital, and that’s where Sherlock found me.” He wrings his hands in his lap, worried about sharing his story with someone who hasn’t been a part of the experience anyway. 

“I see. How did you feel when Sherlock found you after?” She makes a small note and stares up at him again. 

“Nervous, I guess. Relieved.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“No, it does matter. Your feelings matter.” She says simply and John stares hard at her. “And then you found out you were pregnant?”

“Yes. I thought for sure Sherlock would leave. That was one of the first things he ever told me, that he didn’t want children or to bond, but here we are.” He smiles. 

“Well, it seems like everything is working out for you. Mycroft mentioned you still have nightmares?” She inquires, making a quick note. 

“Yes, well, that’s inevitable, isn’t it? I saw several of my friends shot in cold blood, didn’t I?” He says brusquely. 

“When you have these dreams, is it just once a night, or is it repeatedly?” 

“Normally just once a night, but it’s always the same.” He says worriedly. 

“Tell me about what happens in the dream. Close your eyes if it helps.” 

He sighs, but does as she asks, his eyes drifting closed. “I’m lying in bed in the dormitory. I can hear Lizzie snoring next to me. Her first heat is due soon, and I know Clarke is going to make her sell her heat. It’s worrying me, it’s why I’m up. She’s due to start any day now. I hear the door creak open and I think that one of the kids has gotten up to use the loo. I sit up to see who it is, and it’s him. Clarke. He’s standing over Josiah’s bed, something is in his hand. There’s a soft noise, I can’t quite place it. Like a firecracker, but muffled. I sit up, and now he’s standing over Edward. The same noise happens. It takes me a few minutes, but I finally realize what it is. It’s a gun, and he’s just killed two children. Several of the children are waking up now, they’re panicking. I tell Lizzie and Noah, the two closest to me to get down and play dead and they do. I approach him, ask him what he’s doing, and he laughs. ‘Killing whores’, he says. He aims the gun at me and shoots. It takes a moment, but eventually the pain kicks in in my shoulder. I crawl away and he continues to laugh. All I can think is how I need to protect the others. I grab two of the littler ones, Emma and Jackson and drag them over with Lizzie and Noah, who are still playing dead. It takes all of my energy, but I smear as much of my blood as I can on my hands and put it on them. It’s important for them to look like they’re dead. I drape myself over them and tell them not to move and to hold their breath as best they can. I hear footsteps approaching and hold my own breath. There’s a pair of shoes by my head and I hear him laugh. It makes me sick, but I don’t move. Eventually, the shoes move away and I hear the door open and the footsteps disappear. I roll off of them and press my hands to my chest. I can’t breathe. It feels like I’m underwater. I hear Lizzie ask me if I’m alright, and I don’t want to tell her that I’m pretty sure I’m dying. All I can think is, ‘Please, God. Let me live.’ I don’t want to die. I’ll never see Sherlock again. Lizzie disappears, and everything goes black.” He takes a deep shuddering breath. It feels like he’s been talking for hours, but when he looks at the clock, it’s only been a quarter of an hour. 

“And this happens every night?” Ella asks, and John nods. 

“Should I be worried?” He begins to gnaw on his bottom lip, glancing up at her through golden lashes. 

“You should only worry if you have it more than once a night or if you get stuck on a certain part of your dream.” She sets her pen and pad of paper on her desk and gazes at him in a very Sherlockian way. 

“I want you to try writing a blog. I think that by writing about your experience, it’ll help you. That way, you don’t have to explain everything to every person, you can explain it once.” She says simply, and John cringes. 

“John, I think that writing a blog about everything that has happened to you and is happening to you will honestly help you.” 

“It’s in the past. I can’t change the past. And nothing ever happens to me, now.” John shrugs and Ella sighs. 

“I think that by writing about your experience, it’ll help other omegas who may have gone through a similar situation. Or at the very least, it’ll help your mother and sister understand what you’ve been through. A lot of my patients find it easier to write in a blog than to tell someone something face to face.” She stands, and John mimics her. 

“I’m afraid our time is over for this week, John. I’ll see you next week.” She shakes his hand congenially, and escorts him to the door. 

“Thank you, Ella.” He says, walking out of the door. He’d been against going to see a therapist. His father used to sneer at the word therapy, but he already felt lighter. It felt better having a trained professional tell him he wasn’t stark raving mad. 

Sherlock is already waiting for him in the posh looking waiting room. He’s flicking through the _Financial Times_ , a look of disdain on his face. A fidgety, mousy looking man is sitting across from him, an anxious look on his face. 

John walks over to his alpha, who immediately puts the magazine down. “Have a good time?”

“Uhm.” John shrugs. “I guess. Are you ready?”

Sherlock stands and drapes an arm across John’s shoulders. “Did you like her?” 

“She was ok. She wants me to write a blog.” John confesses as they step onto the street and Sherlock hails a cab. 

“About what?”

“My experience. My life.” He sighs. “I told her, I don’t think anyone would really be interested in reading it, so why bother?”

“On the contrary, John. I think many people would be interested in reading it. If nothing else, you could make it into a baby blog to keep your mother informed.” Sherlock states, sliding across the leather seat of the cab. John follows, a thoughtful look on his face. 

“I guess you’re right. I know mum would like to hear more from me and hear more about the baby.” He presses a hand to his belly and Sherlock smiles. 

“It’s settled then. You could call it ‘The Personal Blog of Baby Holmes’.” Sherlock grins and John laughs. 

“Alright, I get it. I’ll start it tonight.” He sits back, gazing out of the window. London flies by him, but it’s a part of London he’s never seen before.

“Uh, where are we going, dear?” John asks and the alpha smiles grimly. 

“While I do have access to my trust fund now that I’m officially bonded, I’m loathe to take any more of Mummy’s money than I have to. That being said, I have to provide for you and baby somehow, so I’ve decided to take on a few private cases. I received an email from an old university acquaintance, so we’re heading to his place of employment.” 

They pull up to a posh looking bank, all steel and glass. They clamber out and into the bank. They go up the escalators and through a series of cubicles to where a secretary is sitting, looking bored. 

“Yeah can I help you?” She asks through a mouthful of gum. 

“Sherlock Holmes to see Sebastian Wilkes.” He states and she picks up the phone. 

“Yeah, Mr. Wilkes. There’s a Sherlock Holmes here to see you.” She says skeptically. She pauses a minute, then puts the phone down. “Ok, you can go in.” She waves them through. 

They walk into a moderately sized office, where a posh, poncey looking alpha sits behind an ornate desk. He stands as they walk in. 

“Sherlock! How good to see you!” He shakes the other alpha’s hand and turns his gaze upon John. “And who is this?” 

“This is my friend, John Watson.” Sherlock waves absently at John who grimaces. 

“Mate, actually. John Holmes.” He shakes Sebastian’s hand, and Sherlock looks at him funny. 

“Right, sorry. My mate. John Holmes.” He says it as if he’s tasting the words for the first time and finding that he likes them. 

“Mate? Really?” Sebastian looks surprised, and John’s eyes narrow at the perceived insult. 

“Yes, and I see you’ve been doing quite well. Round the world twice in the last month.” Sherlock says, settling in a chair across from him. John sits next to him. 

“Go on, tell us how you did it.” Seb says with a sneer. “This is an excellent party trick. We’d come down to breakfast after a night of drinking and this git would be able to tell who we were shagging the night before. We hated it!” He laughs and John wants to snarl at the insult to his mate. Sebastian seems to realize the mistake he’s made, because he turns serious in an instant. 

“Well, it’s good to see you got mated. We didn’t think he’d ever find an omega. Anyway, the reason I asked you down is because we’ve had a break in. It seems as if we have a flaw in our security. We need you to figure it out.” He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Bad for business and all that. We can pay you five figures.” 

Sherlock waves a dismissive hand. “Yes, well, show me the video and I’ll have it solved by the end of the day.” He stands, straightening his coat. 

“Ah. Excellent.” Sebastian and John stand at the same time. They’re led into the security room where they’re showed the security video. There’s a gap of exactly a minute. A spray painted yellow line appears across the eyes of a portrait. 

“This is one of the ex-partner’s offices. It’s been kept as like a memorial.” 

“Alright. I’m going to have a look around.” Sherlock disappears from John’s side, and a tremor of nervousness creeps up his spine. 

“You alright, mate?” Sebastian asks him and John glares at him again. 

“Quite.” He can’t help sounding like Sherlock, and for a moment he wants to laugh. 

“Right, well.” He reaches for a check book and a pen, scribbling on it. “Give this to him, yeah?”

“Sure.” John glances down at the check and has to stop the look of surprise that crosses his face. He’s never seen this much money in his life. He carefully folds the check in half and tucks it into his shirt pocket. He steps away from Sebastian, hoping that Sherlock will finish quickly. It’s not as uncomfortable being out in public anymore, but he still feels better at home. It doesn’t help that Sherlock has completely disappeared. He feels a small fission of fear crawl up his spine. 

It almost seems as if Sherlock knows his unease because he pops up next to them, a slight smile on his face. “We’ll be going now, John.” 

“Have you figured it out yet?” Sebastian shouts at them as they walk off. Sherlock turns around.

“I’ll let you know when I have all available information.” He hooks his arm through John’s, a silly smile pasted on his face.

“You have most of it figured out, don’t you?” John chuckles and Sherlock shrugs. “Who was the message for? Wilkes?”

“No, Eddie Van Coon.” 

“How could you have possibly figured that out?” John scoffs and Sherlock glares at him. 

“Pillars, John. There’s only one desk where the picture can be seen between the pillars. Therefore, that was who the message was meant for.” He takes out his phone and begins texting. 

“Alright, so where now?” John asks, and Sherlock tucks his phone away and hails a cab. 

They clamor in and Sherlock wraps him up in a one armed hug, nosing as the scent glands in his neck. 

“You smell divine. A perfect combination of the two of us.” He licks the soft tan skin there, and a small puff of pheremones hits him full on. John shivers in arousal. “Wait until I get you home.”

“Which will be….?” John asks, his hand trailing along Sherlock’s thigh. 

“As soon as we visit Van Coon’s apartment.” 

“Ah, ok.” John nods in semi-understanding. Sherlock’s brain seems to work at a million miles an hour, and most of the time, John feels as if he’s just hanging onto his coattails in an effort to keep up. 

They arrive at their destination, a block of modern looking flats that seem to go up at least fifty stories. 

“So, how do we get in?” John looks up the length of the flats. 

Sherlock is staring at the length of buzzers and points at one right below the name “Van Coon”. 

“New move-in. The paper’s just been replaced.”

“It could just be a replacement.” John shrugs, but Sherlock shakes his head. 

“People never do that.” He presses on the buzzer and a female voice comes through the intercom. 

“Hello?”

It’s almost as if there’s a completely different person standing next to him and not his loving alpha. He takes on a whole new persona, even a new accent. 

“Hello yes, I don’t think we’ve met before. I live in the flat directly above you, and I seem to have locked my keys in my flat.” 

“Oh! Do you want me to buzz you up?” The woman says nicely and Sherlock grins. 

“Yeah…and could I use your balcony, please?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John waits patiently outside of Van Coon’s flat while Sherlock apparently shimmies down onto Van Coon’s balcony from the balcony right above his. He hears movement from inside of Van Coon’s flat and knocks. No answer. 

“Sherlock, could you let me in, please?” He shouts at the door. He waits a few moments before knocking again. 

“Sherlock, don’t _do_ this!” He stamps his foot, frustrated. There’s some movement from the apartment, and John sighs. 

Suddenly, there’s a crash from inside the apartment. John’s panic spikes. What if there is an assassin waiting for his alpha in there? What if he’s hurt? What if he’s dying on the floor just on the other side of this door? 

“Sherlock!” He throws his entire weight against the door, not caring what kind of damage it might do to him. It takes four solid tosses of his body before the wood bows to his weight. He rushes into the richly furnished apartment, searching frantically for his alpha. 

“Sherlock!” He calls out again.

“In here!” The deep baritone of the taller man calls from a different room. The omega rushes in. Sherlock is leaning over a dead body that is spread out on the bed. He’s still dressed in a suit from the bank, a perfectly round bullet hole right through his temple. 

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock. Couldn’t you have let me in?” He exclaims, feeling more than a little irritated. 

“Sorry, examining the body.” He continues to ignore the omega, now rifling through the open suitcase at the end of the bed. “He’s been dead about…two days.” Sherlock looks up at him, waiting for John to sing his praises. Instead, John turns his head away, stubbornly. 

“Take a look.” The alpha prods him, and John snorts. 

“No, thank you.” He crosses his arms over his chest and Sherlock looks at him, confused. “I’m just not keen on rooting around in someone’s dirty underwear, alright?” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” John insists, but his tone says otherwise. Sherlock sighs, but decides to ignore it for now. He has the case to focus on, and he can’t deal with a pregnant omega’s fluctuating emotions right now. He strides into the living room, continuing his investigation. 

“John, call Lestrade.” He orders the younger man, and John does so with a sigh. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thirty minutes later, an alpha detective, who is obviously not Lestrade strolls into the apartment. He takes one glance around the flat, spots John and makes a bee line for the omega. 

“Hello dear.” He purrs. “Are you alright?” He grasps John’s elbow, and even though he and Sherlock are just bonded, this man is comforting. This is the most attention he’s gotten from anyone in the last two days. After his heat, Sherlock had promptly ignored him in favor of the work. Sherlock growls from where he’s standing and strides over to stand next to him. 

“Where’s Lestrade?” He sniffs in indignation, and the alpha sneers. 

“He’s not in charge of this, I am. DI Dimmock.” He holds his hand out to the other alpha, but Sherlock turns away, explaining to the DI his deductions.

John knew that Sherlock often didn’t speak for days on end and was often completely absorbed in the work, but he needed reassurance. He didn’t want to just be a hole to be pounded once a month and a nanny. He wanted to be Sherlock’s partner. A wave of sadness crashed over him. Why would Sherlock want him as a partner in the work? It wasn’t like he had anything to offer when they were at crime scenes. Sherlock had literally locked him out of this crime scene. He just wanted to sink into the couch at home and put on Doctor Who. 

Panic began to build up inside of him. What if Sherlock didn’t want him anymore? What if he had to leave? Could he raise a baby on his own? 

“John? Are you alright?” Sherlock’s soft baritone slices through his thoughts, and he almost jumps in surprise. 

“Yes, fine. Are we leaving?” John fidgets uncomfortably. Not only is he starving, but he also has to pee. 

“Yes. You need to be fed. Come along.” He grasps John’s elbow, leading him out of the building. When they get outside, Sherlock pulls him into an alley and presses him against the brick wall behind him. He scents his neck possessively. 

“I almost ripped his head off when he touched you.” Sherlock whispers into the soft skin of his neck. His hot breath ghosts over his sensitive skin and he shivers in arousal. 

“Sherlock, we need to talk.” He squirms away from his alpha, who looks at him confused. 

“What about?”

“I think that I should find a part time job.” He says simply, and his alpha flinches. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy working with you, but I just don’t see how I’m helping you. Wouldn’t it be better for me to find a part time job so I can help bring income into the house, instead of just being?”

“John, I need you with me. It may not seem like you do much, but…I think better when you’re around. My mind is clearer.” The alpha looks almost as if he’s about to cry, and John goes into the cradle of his arms. 

“It would only be twice a week. I could still accompany you on cases. Sarah mentioned that they were looking for a secretary at the clinic she interns at. It would be good experience.” He whispers. Sherlock seems to think about it for a few moments, then lets him go.

“You’re right, of course. I just worry about you being on your own. What if you get exposed to an illness that affects you or the baby?” Sherlock clutches at his forearms and John smiles ruefully. 

“I don’t think that’ll happen.” 

“If you insist.” Sherlock says with a sigh. “And John, I know you think that I’m neglecting you, and I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think that I’ve forgotten you. I just don’t want to get distracted and mess up this case.” He presses his omega back against the wall, breathing lightly into his ear. “When this is over, I’m going to take you to bed and not leave for at least two days.”

John shivers in anticipation and grins. “What about purchasing baby items? And getting the nursery ready?”

Sherlock laughs. “That too.” 

“Right. We’d better be off.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They arrive home after a quick lunch at Angelo’s. The minute they step in the door, Sherlock’s phone dings with a text. He glances down at him before flipping it open. 

“There’s been another murder, John! Come along!” Sherlock tugs at John’s sleeve and John, who had been in the process of sliding out of his jacket, slips it back on. 

“What is it this time?” John sighs as they step out of 221B and onto the street. He zips his coat up against the chill. 

“Another person was found dead in a locked apartment. This one was a journalist. Dimmock actually requested our presence.” He hails a cab and tugs his omega into the warmth of the car. 

“So, we’re headed to his flat?” John snuggles next to him, luxuriating in the heat. 

“Indeed.” Sherlock continues to text with one hand, the other arm wrapped tightly around his omega. John snuggles into him with a sigh. 

“There has to be something that connects these two.” The alpha growls in frustration, snapping his phone shut. 

“I’m sure we’ll find something.” John says with a sigh and Sherlock groans, scrubbing a hand across his face. 

The cab speeds towards the flat, and when they arrive, Sherlock bustles him out of the car. He flings a few bills at the driver and they walk in together. Dimmock is waiting for them. 

“Another murder in a locked room, then?” Sherlock asks snidely, and the other alpha huffs in indignation. 

“Suicide, you mean.”

“Now, now, children. Settle down.” John waves his hand dismissively and Sherlock disappears to go investigate. 

After several minutes, Sherlock reappears at the foot of the stairs, a stack of books in his hand. 

“Come along, John.” He grasps John’s elbow and guides them back out into the cold. 

“Dimmock, we’ll be in touch.”


	11. The Blind Banke Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John grows a little more brave in the outside world and Sherlock learns to let go.

Author's Note: Once again, I'm incredibly sorry that it took me five whole months to get this chapter up. Life has been a nightmare, starting a new job and moving and whatnot, but really, those are just excuses. For some reason, this chapter was incredibly difficult to write. I found a beta and she has looked over Chapter 1, which has been revised and reposted, so if you're interested, go back and read that. Also, I will be trying to follow Series 3 as closely as possible, but there will obviously be some things that don't fit. Once again, I'll try and get these chapters up as quickly as possible, but I try and focus on quality over quantity, and I DO try to focus on quality, rereading every chapter and trying to pinpoint any mistakes, but I could also use another person to look it over/give me ideas, so if anyone is interested, inbox me and we'll e-mail. 

You guys are the best. All kudos and comments are welcome, so please do so. They give this otherwise unaffirmed teacher soul food. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“What did you find?” John asks, jogging to keep up with his long legged alpha. 

Sherlock grins at him through his messy riot of chocolate curls. “Caught that, did you?”

John rolls his eyes. “Of course. I may have been born at night, but I wasn’t born _last_ night.” 

The alpha laughs and pulls him along. “He checked out a book from the library. He was on his way home from there when he was killed. So, what did he find at the library that made him panic and run home?”

“Right, ok.” John stares at him blankly and Sherlock sighs. 

“I have his diary and one of the books he checked out. We’ll go to the library tonight and then tomorrow we’ll retrace his steps, see where he’s been the past few days.” He holds a hand out and a cab pulls up to the curb. 

“Sherlock, I have my interview at the hospital tomorrow morning after my class with Sarah. I can’t go.” He shakes his head and Sherlock snorts. 

“Skip it.” He waves his hand dismissively and returns to his texting. John bristles at his tone.

“No.”

“What?” The alpha actually puts down his phone. 

“I said no. This is important to me. I’m not skipping it.” The omega sniffs and stares out of the window, not wanting to meet his alpha’s eye. 

“John, I am your alpha and you WILL do as I say.” Sherlock says with a growl and John wants to bow to the command, but he doesn’t. 

“I will NOT,” he snarls, baring his teeth. “Sherlock we talked about this. If I do not find something else to occupy my time and be a productive member of society, I WILL go crazy. So you are just going to have to wait for me to finish tomorrow. I should be home by one.” 

Sherlock sighs. He doesn’t like being challenged, and by an omega no less, but he realizes that he has to make some concessions with John. He loves John, he wants to have him by his side, but if he forces John to come with him, John will be bitter. 

“Alright, we’ll go at one. No later,” Sherlock sniffs and John grins. He slides closer to him, wiggling his way under his alpha’s arm. 

“Thank you, sweetie.” He kisses his alpha’s neck and Sherlock hums his approval. “I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight.” 

“Hmm. Really?” Sherlock finally slides his phone into his pocket and turns to stare at the omega. “How?”

“I think you know how.” He winks, resting his hand on Sherlock’s thigh, and the alpha stiffens. John nips lightly at the alpha’s scent gland, and a moan is torn from the plush cupids bow lips. His legs inch a little wider as the omega’s hand trails toward the junction of his thighs. 

John palms the alpha’s rapidly growing erection, and Sherlock throws his head back so hard that it bounces off of the headrest. “John!” The groan of the omega’s name is ripped from his throat. Unfortunately the noise draws the attention of the beta cab driver and John pulls his hand back, trying to look innocent. 

“Oi! None of that now.” The driver glares at them in his rearview mirror and John blushes. They sit in relative silence the rest of the drive, their hands barely touching between them. When the cab pulls up to 221B, John jumps out, leaving Sherlock to pay the fare. He darts up the stairs, and as soon as he’s in the door, he begins taking off his clothes, throwing his shirt toward the couch and his trousers toward the stuffed moose head that watches over their desks. The legs catch in the antlers and as he turns around, he is crowded against the bookshelf by his long lanky alpha. 

“You minx.” Sherlock breathes against his neck and John laughs, squirming against him. “You’re such a tease.” 

“Is it teasing if you plan on following through?” John asks, glancing up at him through his eyelashes. 

Sherlock growls, running his hands down the omega’s shoulders and back up again before running down his chest. He tweaks John’s nipples lightly, turning them from a pale pink into a dusky rose, and the omega groans and arches his chest into Sherlock’s hands. Long pale fingers pull on the hardened pink nubs gently before trailing down and gently cupping the hard tiny belly. There’s a light dusting of hair that starts just below the belly button and disappears down into John’s crotch. Sherlock cards his fingers through the fine hair before reaching down to the omega’s bare cock, which twitches in excitement. 

“You’re practically gagging for it, aren’t you?” Sherlock says with a laugh and John moans in agreement. His hand cups smooth balls before reaching for the omega’s tightly furled hole. It’s already damp, and Sherlock easily slides one finger in. John presses back, eager for more. 

“Slowly. Don’t want to hurt the baby.” Sherlock gasps out, and John groans in frustration. 

The alpha wriggles his finger, desperately seeking the little bundle of nerves that he knows will drive his omega crazy. He knows when he’s found it, because John groans eagerly and presses back further against his finger, burying the entire long digit in his arse. He slides another finger in and gently works John open before sliding a third finger in, the moans that his omega is emitting are like music to his ears. He could go on listening to them for the rest of his life if he could.

Natural lubrication slides down John’s thighs and Sherlock’s fingers. There’s not as much as there is during a heat, but it’s enough to ease the way for Sherlock’s fingers and eventually his cock. The scent is enticing, not just pregnant omega, but pregnant omega in coitus. It takes all of his will power not to lap up every delicious drop. 

Sherlock spins him around, bending John over and kneels behind the blond, lapping up the thin liquid that runs down the omega’s thighs, following the trail up to the omega’s hole. It’s so wide it’s almost gapping, and Sherlock begins to pant imagining the dark crown of hair of their child emerging from John’s body, stretching him wide, wider than Sherlock’s cock and knot ever could. The thought is so arousing that the alpha palms his cock through the thin fabric of his trousers and pants, squeezing the knot at the base hard. Little sparks of pleasure dart from his cock and up his spine. 

“Sherlock!” John squeals and the alpha laughs.

“Who’s the tease now?” He whispers and John moans in frustration. 

“Please!” 

“Please what?” The alpha asks innocently, continuing to rub the heel of his hand against his knot.

“Fuck me!” John practically shouts, and Sherlock stands with a growl. 

“Yes.” He rumbles, freeing his leaking cock from his pants. In one smooth thrust he’s completely engulfed in the omega’s tight wet heat. He clings to every ridge and curve of Sherlock’s cock. His knot catches on the rim of John’s arse, but with a few more pistoning thrusts, the omega’s hole is finally loose enough for Sherlock’s knot to slide all the way in. John clamps down tightly with his internal muscles, keeping his alpha in place. All it takes is a few more shivery thrusts and Sherlock is coming, spurting his seed deep into his omega’s womb. 

“Ah! Ah!” John fucks himself back on his alpha’s knot, desperate for the friction. He reaches for his own cock, which is slapping the curve of his pregnant belly frantically, desperate to come. A long, pale, violinist hand reaches around his body and slaps the omega’s hand away. He fists John’s cock, his hand sliding up and cupping the head, sliding the foreskin up and over it. He rubs his thumb under the head, stimulating the nerves there. The feeling of sensitive skin sliding over the head of his penis is what finally tips John over the edge. His hole flutters over his alpha’s knot, wringing another orgasm from him. 

“John.” Sherlock moans into the omega’s sweaty nape. His lips ghost over John’s neck and bondbite, and the blond shudders in pleasure. 

“Come, let’s go to bed. I think I can maneuver us with minimal discomfort.” Sherlock says after several long moments in which John is slumped over, the only thing supporting him is the alpha’s knot and arms, which are wrapped protectively around him. 

They inch slowly toward the bedroom, and by the time they get there, Sherlock’s knot has already softened enough that he slides free from the tight heat of his omega. Fluids gush from his loosened hole, and Sherlock rubs the combined fluid into the soft skin of John’s thighs and the firmness of his belly. The omega purrs in pleasure, the blend of his and his alpha’s scents making him dizzy with pleasure. His eyes slide closed, enjoying the feeling of his alpha’s fingers sliding through the fluid on his thighs and womb. 

“John, must you go tomorrow?” Sherlock whispers into his skin, pressing a kiss to his belly. The omega sighs. 

“Sher, you know that I must. I’m tired of being your house omega. I need to get out of the flat and contribute to the household and to society,” John says wearily. 

“I know, I just hate it when we aren’t together,” The alpha grumbles, sliding up his body and pulling the blond into a loose embrace. John nuzzles Sherlock’s neck, inhaling their combined scent. 

“I know.”

“You’ll be safe, won’t you?” Sherlock clutches him closer and John huffs a laugh. 

“Of course. I’m just applying for a receptionist job. Now get some sleep,” John says, yawning widely. 

“Good night, John.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John sits in the waiting area of the hospital, his hands tucked between his knees nervously. He hasn’t seen Sarah, but he hasn’t expected to. His stomach turns uncomfortably. He hasn’t often been around people he didn’t know, but he thinks that if he gets this job, it will help with his anxiety in crowds. 

“Mr. Watson?” A beta doctor approaches him and John stands.

“Yes sir?” 

“I’m Doctor Telford. I’ll be interviewing you today.” He reaches a hand out and John shakes it uncomfortably. 

“Very nice to meet you.” John says politely, and Dr. Telford ushers him into his office.

“So, Sarah says you’re very bright. You’re hoping to apply to medical school?” The doctor glances down at his resume and John nods. 

“Yes, I come from a somewhat…different background. I missed a lot of school, so Sarah’s been helping me study for my A levels. After that, I plan on going to college and eventually get my medical degree.” John nods and the beta smiles. 

“That sounds like quite a goal.” 

John gives a small smile. 

“Well, Mr. Watson, I have to say, we don’t really need another receptionist.” He says apologetically. 

The omega’s face falls. He feels like crying. He really wanted this job. He wanted a chance to be able to leave the house and contribute to their household, but it looks like he’s going to be stuck in the house, raising their child and going to school part time. 

“I do have another job possibility, that I think you actually might enjoy more. Follow me.” He stands and John follows. They go through a maze of hospital corridors until they arrive at the newborn nursery window. 

“We’re looking for what we’re calling a ‘mother’s helper’. You’d essentially help the nurses change and feed the newborns when their mothers aren’t available. There’s some training involved, and if you want to go any further, you’ll have to take more classes, but what do you think?” He looks at John expectantly. 

“That sounds…brilliant, actually.” John looks at the newborns with a smile. 

“Doesn’t this normally require extensive training? Like, becoming a nurse?” John bites his lip nervously and the doctor smiles, nodding.

“Normally, yes. But Sarah informed me of your background, and I think you have enough training to at least start with. Are you interested?” He shoves his hands in his pockets and John nods enthusiastically. 

“Absolutely.” 

“Great. I’ll sign you up for the classes and you can start as soon as you finish them, which should be in about a month. You’ll get paid for attending them. They’re Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 5pm to 8pm, will you be able to manage that?” 

“Should do.” John grins and the doctor smiles back. 

“Great.” He reaches for John’s hand and John shakes it. 

Later, after John has filled out the requisite paperwork, he leaves the hospital with a new found spring in his step. He pulls his mobile out and sighs when he sees the screen. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Where are you?-SH_

_Are you still at that infernal hospital?-SH_

_You really shouldn’t be there. What if you catch something there that hurts the baby?-SH_

_This was a bad idea.-SH_

_Come home, now.-SH_

_John, I’m sorry. Come home?-SH_

_I’m coming to get you.-SH_

_Ok, no I’m not. Meet me at the address I’m texting you.-SH_

_I love you.-SH_

_I’m sorry.-SH_

John rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless. There’s another text with an address to a restaurant in Chinatown. He hops in a cab, which whizzes through the streets of London. He hands over some bills to the driver when they arrive and jumps out. Sherlock is sitting right inside the door, in front of a window. His long violinist fingers are tapping nervously against the red and white checked tablecloth. 

“John! Are you alright?” He stands up, ushering the omega to sit opposite him. 

“Sherlock, I’m fine. Stop worrying.” He grins, flicking a lock of dishwater blond hair out of his eyes. “I have some good news, actually.” 

“And what would that be?” Sherlock asks, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

“They offered me a job…not the receptionist job, but a better one. Apparently Sarah had a talk with them.” 

“Oh, she did, did she?” Sherlock’s lip curls in disdain and John sighs. 

“Stop it. She knows we’re bonded and she is not interested in me in the slightest. Plus, why would I date a med student when I have a stunningly attractive bondmate?” John asks coquettishly and he grins as Sherlock visibly softens at the praise. 

“What job _did_ they offer you?” His alpha asks as a tiny Chinese beta woman approaches, carrying one plate of steaming food. She sets it down in front of him and John looks at his alpha questioning. 

“I hope you don’t mind. I ordered your favorite.” Sherlock gestures to the food and John picks up a fork, forgoing the chopsticks, and begins shoveling fried rice and orange chicken into his mouth, talking around the big mouthful. 

“Sort of like…a mother’s helper. I have to go to some training three nights a week and I’ll just start off changing diapers and feeding the newborns, but eventually with enough training I’ll be able to do things that real nurses do.” John can barely contain his excitement, and Sherlock gives him an uneasy smile. 

“Are you sure you’ll be up for that? With the baby and all, I mean…” He picks up a fork and spears a piece of chicken, chewing thoughtfully.

“I asked about that. I won’t be on my feet all the time, and they’ll give me time off when the baby comes as well as time off for classes. I know it’ll put some extra strain on you…” John trails off, looking at his alpha nervously.

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll figure something out.” He reaches for John’s hand, and the omega grasps it gratefully. The gentle pressure on his hand is comforting, as is the warmth Sherlock is giving off. The calluses on the tips of his fingers from the violin rasp across the smooth skin on the back of John’s hand, and he cannot believe his good fortune. He grins at the detective, who pulls his hand up to his mouth. He places a light kiss on the back of John’s hand before letting it fall and staring out the window. 

“So, any particular reason you dragged me out to Chinatown? It can’t just be because of the good Chinese food,” John asks, and Sherlock’s eyes flick to his. 

“That wasn’t the only reason, no,” Sherlock smiles and nods his head to the store across the street. 

“The Lucky Cat Emporium. According to Lukis’s diary, this is where he came right after his flight landed. Why would a man who had just returned from China, where he could purchase all the Chinese artifacts he wanted come to a cheap Chinese shop in London?” Sherlock asks absentmindedly and John shrugs. 

“I don’t know…maybe to drop off some more merchandise?” He shovels more chicken and rice into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. 

For a moment, Sherlock seems frozen. “My god, John. You’re brilliant!” He stands, pressing a kiss to John’s lips before running out of the restaurant. 

John sighs, takes one last bite, and throws down some money on the table. He has got to talk to Sherlock about leaving him unexpectedly. He follows, jogging to catch up with his alpha. Sherlock is already bent over, peering through the letter slot. He rests his fingers on a phone book, ruffling the pages that peek through a small hole in the plastic. 

“I need to get into that flat.” Sherlock walks around the building and John follows at a trot. 

“Why?” John shouts after him. 

“Smugglers, John! Both Lukis and Van Coon were smugglers. What if one of them was light fingered? What if one of them took something and the killer threatened both of them?” John can feel Sherlock’s excitement growing through their bond, making his own nerves fizzle with adrenaline. 

“Sherlock! Wait up!” He watches as the gangly alpha jumps up and pulls the fire escape down with ease. He scrambles up the ladder and it ascends with him before John can follow. 

“Damn it, Sherlock!” John growls as Sherlock clambers through the open window. John goes back around to the front of the flat. 

John opens the letter slot again, peering through. 

“Someone else has been here! Someone else broke in and knocked over the vase, just like I did.” Sherlock calls to him and John presses the buzzer anxiously. 

“Think you could let me in this time?” John says, and when there’s no answer and no open door forthcoming, he bends down again, calling through the slot angrily. “Can you not keep doing this, please?”

“I’m not the first!” Sherlock calls excitedly. 

“What?” 

“Someone’s been in here before me!”

“What are you saying?”

“Size eight feet. Small, but athletic.” 

“I’m wasting my breath.” John sighs in aggravation and presses the buzzer again. 

Suddenly, there’s the feeling of panic coming through the bond. Panic and pain. 

“Sherlock! Anytime you want to include me, that would be lovely!” John tries to play it cool so if anyone else is in there knows that someone is waiting for alpha who just broke in. 

When there’s no response, once again, the anger boils over. “Oh yes, I’m Sherlock Holmes and no one else can compete with my massive intellect!” He finishes bitterly. 

After a few minutes in which John nervously paces in front of the tidy looking flat in Chinatown, the door opens. Sherlock’s hair is mused and his eyes are wild. 

“The milk’s gone bad and the washing is starting to smell. Someone left this flat approximately three days ago.” The alpha croaks hoarsely. 

“Someone?” John asks, grabbing his alpha’s arm. 

“Soo Lin Yao.”

“Where would we find her?” John says desperately, and Sherlock bends down, picking up a small piece of paper that was tucked under the doorway. 

“Well, we could start with this.” He coughs. 

“You’ve gone all croaky. Are you getting a cold?” John asks kindly, running his fingers along the inside arm of Sherlock’s coat. 

“I’m fine. I want to go into this Lucky Cat Emporium. I believe this is where the two men made their drop offs.” Sherlock wraps an arm around John’s shoulders and pulls him into the kitschy little shop. 

Cats are waving at him from ever corner of the shop. He’s never understood this fascination with cats that people have, and while Sherlock goes over to examine something, he begins looking at some delicate patterned teacups. He picks it up and turns it over to check the price. 

“You want lucky cat?” The elderly omega woman addresses Sherlock who gives her a tight smile. 

“No. Thanks, no.” 

“I think your omega, they will like.” She thrusts the cat further towards him, and Sherlock turns toward John. 

“John, this woman thinks you want a ridiculous waving cat which is anatomically impossible,” Sherlock says, turning towards his pregnant omega. 

“Uh, no. Dog person. Thanks,” John grins, and hands one of the teacups to the alpha. “Sherlock, look at this.” 

“The label…exactly like the cipher,” Sherlock notes with a sense of awe. “Come along, John!” 

They rush out of the store and Sherlock drags him over to a vendor selling vegetables. “It’s an ancient number system—Hang Zhou.” 

“So, what we saw was the number one?” John asks and Sherlock nods. 

“Exactly. These days, only street traders use it.” 

“So, what now?” John asks despairingly. “What do these numbers mean? I don’t get it.” 

“I think we need to go to this museum. Talk to this…Andy. He was friends with Soo Lin. He may know where she’s gone.” He thrusts the paper at John who reads the note with interest. 

“Well, let’s go then,” John grins, but Sherlock looks uneasy. 

“Are you sure you’re up for it? You’ve had a long day already…I don’t want you to tire out.” 

“Sherlock,” John smiles and slides under his alpha’s arm. “I’m fine. If I get tired or hungry or anything, I’ll tell you, okay?” 

Sherlock beams and presses a kiss to John’s forehead. “Come on then, let’s go.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“When did you last see Soo Lin Yao?” Sherlock says to the other alpha who cowers in fear. 

“Three days ago, here at the museum. This morning they told me she had resigned, just like that,” the alpha named Andy shrugs. “Just left her work unfinished.” 

“What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?” Sherlock asks, sniffing the other alpha suspiciously. 

Andy doesn’t answer, but instead leads them into a back room of the museum. He holds the door open and both Sherlock and John stride through. 

“She does this demonstration for the tourists, a tea ceremony.” He walks to a locker type thing as he speaks, opening it with great care. “So she would have packed up her things and put them in here.” 

As soon as the door to the locker is opened, John ventures in. He takes a look back at his alpha, but he has wandered off, gazing at a marble statue of an omega woman. Yellow paint is sprayed across her eyes and breasts. 

“Jesus, is that…” John gestures to the statue and Sherlock nods. 

“We need to go. We’ll be in touch, Andy.” Sherlock once again grabs John’s elbow, dragging him through the halls and out of the front door. 

“We have to get to Soo Lin Yao,” Sherlock says, tucking his omega’s hand into the crook of his arm. 

“Yeah, if she’s still alive.” John shudders. 

“Sherlock!” A teenage beta boy runs up to them and John’s brow furrows in confusion.

“Who’s that?” 

“Teenage tagger named Raz. I asked him about the paint, he’s been on the lookout for the same paint appearing elsewhere in the city.” Sherlock stops so the teenager can catch up to them. 

The boy stops, panting for breath. “I’ve found something you’ll like.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fifteen minutes later they’re under a bridge full of teenagers, alphas, omegas and betas alike. They’re all whizzing by him on skateboards and bikes, and Sherlock tucks him under his arm protectively. A part of John preens at the protectiveness of his alpha, but another part wants to slip away from him, embarrassed in front of all these people. 

“If you want to hide a tree, the best place to be would be the forest, wouldn’t you agree?” Sherlock inquires and John nods. “People would just walk straight past not knowing, unable to decipher the message.” 

“There it is. I spotted it earlier.” Raz points to a wall. Yellow paint in three vertical lines peeks out from underneath some other graffiti. 

“And that’s the exact same paint?” Sherlock asks, smoothing his fingers across the painted wall. 

“Yeah.” 

“John, if we’re going to decipher this code, we’re going to need to look for more evidence. Think you’re up for it?” He runs his hand down John’s arm and the omega nods. 

“Good, we’ll probably need to split up.” He tugs his bondmate to his chest and runs his hand down the barely there, coat covered bump of the baby. John’s abdomen is just barely jutting out, his pants aren’t even very tight yet, but Sherlock loves feeling the tight skin there, the slight firmness there a testament to their love. He flushes in remembrance of the heats they’ve spent together and is slightly disappointed that they’ll have to wait at least another 18 months before they experience another one. 

“Well, let’s get going.” John grins and they walk off, leaving Raz standing there dumbfounded. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hours later, they return to the flat and John is officially exhausted. Every bone in his body aches from running all over the city. It was pure luck that John had found the message on the wall in the train yard and an even bigger stroke of luck that he managed to take a picture of the wall before the taggers had painted over it. 

Sherlock gets to work immediately, pictures of individual Hang Zhou figures pinned up all over the walls of their flat. 

“John, go to bed. You need rest for the baby. I’m going to stay up and work on this.” Sherlock waves him off, and John meanders into the kitchen. 

“John, seriously. Go to bed.” Sherlock follows him worriedly. 

“I am, Sherlock. I’m just having a cuppa before bed.” He turns the kettle on to boil and pulls down his favorite mug, dropping a tea bag in. 

“Caffeine isn’t good for the baby…” Sherlock insists, and John sighs. 

“A small amount of caffeine isn’t going to hurt the baby or me. For God’s sake, Sherlock, stop worrying. Omegas have been carrying babies since the dawn of time and I’m no different. My body knows what to do. You have to trust me.” He wraps his arms around the skinny alpha’s waist, nuzzling his cheek against the fine silk shirt. 

“I’m just concerned, John. I just want to protect you.” Sherlock buries his cheek into the omega’s soft locks, inhaling the delicious scent of shampoo and their combined scents. 

“I know, and I love you for it. But wrapping me in bubble wrap isn’t going to help me or the baby.” He squeezes gently, and releases the alpha to go back to making his tea. 

The alpha wraps his arms around his omega, his hands spreading across the tiny baby bump. He holds him, continuing to nuzzle his hair while John waits for the kettle to boil. 

“Alright, I’m going to bed.” John grabs his mug of tea and leans up, placing a kiss on the tall alpha’s lips. “Good night. I love you.” 

Sherlock pulls him back again, kissing him. The omega groans as Sherlock deepens the kiss, his deft tongue swirling around the heated cavern of John’s mouth. 

“Go. Get to work.” He pushes him away, grabbing his mug and venturing into the bedroom. “I have to go in for orientation tomorrow, so I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Good night, love.” Sherlock gives him a soft smile, and within seconds, he’s absorbed back in his work. John grins and slips back into the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John awakes the next morning to a very large, very hot alpha male draped over him, a cold nose buried in his neck. 

“Uh…Sherlock? What’s going on?” John prods the alpha gently, and the other man rolls over onto his back. 

“I’m sorry, John. I’ve found I think better when I’m near you. You don’t mind, do you?” Sherlock asks, pulling him close. John tucks his head under Sherlock’s chin and let’s his eyes drift closed. 

“Not at all. What time is it?” John asks, popping his back with a groan. 

“Six.” Sherlock drawls and John sits up with a stretch. 

“I should probably get a shower before orientation. What time do you want me to meet you?” John crawls out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Sherlock watches his every movement, his eyes following him from the bedroom and into the bathroom. “Does noon work?”

“Sure thing!” John calls, turning the shower on, waiting for the water to warm up when Sherlock saunters in clad only in his pants. 

“I’ll go to the library by myself, but we’ll meet at the National Antiquities Museum?” Sherlock rubs a hand across his omega’s shoulders and John nods. 

“Sounds great,” he smiles, climbing into the shower and allowing the hot water to cascade down his body. He soaped up, running his hands down the gently protruding baby bump. He couldn’t wait to feel the baby move inside of him, to watch his skin ripple with the movement of the child growing within him. 

In no time he is showered and clean. He dried off, tugging on a pair of boxers and a pair of paternity pants that Sherlock had purchased for him with the elastic in the waistband. Next was a light blue dress shirt, which was tucked carefully into the trousers. 

“Sherlock, I’m heading out. I’ll meet you later?” John calls out, tugging on his coat. 

“Sure thing, John. Be safe!” The alpha calls from the kitchen and John cringes at the thought of what Sherlock was doing in the kitchen at this hour of the morning. He prayed that when he came back the kitchen wouldn’t be gone. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By eleven thirty, John is practically gasping for lunch. He rubs his belly which is growling uncomfortably. 

“It’s ok, baby. Papa’s going to get you some food.” 

He takes the stairs down to the tube station, pulling his coat tighter around him. Even though he is well on his way back to living a normal life, large crowds still make him incredibly nervous. The problem with the tube was the stew of every kind of pheromones. Unsavory alphas would often stake out the tube in search of omegas who had decided to make a last ditch run to the store before their heat hit, and desperate omegas would often ride the tube in search of a wealthy alpha. 

There are no empty seats, and he isn’t showing enough for anyone to know he’s pregnant and give up their seat, so he clings to a bar, praying he won’t be jostled too much. 

“Sorry, love,” he is nudged away from his bar by a greasy looking alpha who leans in to sniff him as he passes. 

John sighs and leans away, clinging to a different bar closer to the door. He really needs to get out of this confined space. 

“Where’s your alpha, sweetie?” The alpha is now looming over his back, breathing heavily down his neck. He growls in annoyance, tugging the collar of his shirt down to reveal his bondbite. 

“I’m bonded, you asshole. And pregnant, so unless you want my alpha to murder you in your sleep, I’d back up,” John snarls and the alpha raises both hands up in mock submission. 

“I’m just trying to help, sweetheart,” the alpha backs away, moving to the end of the carriage and John rides the rest of the way in silence, stewing in anger over the seedy alpha. 

He storms up the stairs, a holy anger bubbling inside of him. How dare that alpha press himself against him just because he was an omega without an alpha nearby? He has _rights_ doesn’t he? 

He walks toward the museum, anger temporarily taking the place of his hunger. But now that he is out of the tube, his hunger is raring back full force. He stops, glancing around. The smell emanating from a tiny little fish and chips shop draws him in. 

As soon as he steps into the warmth, he unbuttons his coat, making his way to the front to place his order. It’s close to lunch, so the shop is full of customers, many of whom are tourists. He pulls out his mobile and taps out a quick text to his alpha. 

_Stopping to get something to eat the fish and chips shop by the NAM. Where are you?-JWH_

John looks at the text, smiling a little at the initials. It still sent warmth through him to see his new initials typed out. 

_On my way. Want me to meet you and we can head over together?-SH_

_Absolutely. See you soon.-JWH_

“What can I get for you?” The blonde behind the counter asks, popping her gum annoyingly and looking bored. 

“Uh, yeah, one fish and chips meal with a water please,” he smiles at the girl who raises her eyebrows in response, entering his order into the computer. 

“Name?” 

“Holmes.” 

The girl jots down his name and he moves to sit at the only vacant table, draping his coat over the back of his chair. 

It only takes about ten minutes for his order to come up and he weaves his way through the crowd, scooping up his tray. The smell of fried fish and chips hits his nostrils full force and he practically drools all over his tray. He picks at a chip and groans at the flavor. It’s not the best he’s ever had, but it’s close, and because he’s so hungry, it hardly matters. 

John looks up to see his table is occupied. Sherlock is sitting at his table, a smile playing across his lips, but his brow furrowed in worry. 

“Really John, you shouldn’t put off breakfast. It’s important for the baby,” Sherlock admonishes gently.

“I know, but if someone hadn’t distracted me this morning, we wouldn’t be having this problem,” John laughs, slipping a foot between Sherlock’s and reaching for the malt vinegar. 

“How was orientation?” Sherlock asks, nicking a chip off of John’s plate. 

“Hey! We need that more than you! Get your own!” John batted his hand away, cowering over his plate. 

“Sorry. How was it?” Sherlock laughs, wiping the grease off of his fingers with a napkin. 

“Great. I think I’m going to really like it,” he says genuinely. 

“Good. Are you meeting with Sarah later to go over school work?” 

“Yep, probably around four. Will that give us enough time to get things done today?” John asks, biting into a piece of fish. 

“Should do,” Sherlock says, snagging another chip. 

“Bastard,” John grins, quickly devouring the rest of his meal. When he finishes, he grabs his trash and coat, depositing the greasy contents of the tray in the trash and sliding into his coat. 

Sherlock follows behind him, linking his arm through his omega’s, smiling. “Let’s go solve this crime.”


End file.
